


Begin Again

by MechBull



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, NOT a love triangle, past Simmons/Ward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-08 23:52:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3228230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MechBull/pseuds/MechBull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the collapse of S.H.I.E.L.D., Simmons goes undercover as a researcher. Her task: investigate the engineering professor whose designs keep ending up in Hydra’s arsenal. (AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Got a Long List of Ex-Lovers (They’ll Tell You I’m Insane)

Simmons grunted as her back hit the ground and the full weight of the man on top of her nearly crushed her ribs. 

“I could get used to this position,” he observed.

Simmons rolled her eyes and pushed at him. He didn’t budge. 

“Trip,” she scolded.

Chuckling, her friend stood and then reached a hand out for her. He pulled her to her feet, and she brushed off her bottom. 

“Again?”

Simmons nodded. She was going to figure out this move, no matter how many times he tossed her onto the training room mat. “Again.” 

It took ten more tries, a real sore arse, and an element of surprise, but she finally sent him to the floor. She immediately ruined the moment by jumping once in victory and coming dangerously close to cheering. 

They finished with just enough time to clean up before the briefing. Simmons, her hair still wet from her shower, rushed into the room and slid into her seat next to Skye at the last possible moment. Annoyingly, Trip was already there – ugh, men.

“Thank you for joining us, Dr. Simmons,” Coulson said dryly. Simmons ducked her head to hide her blush, and she felt Skye pinch at her thigh under the table. 

“Unfortunately,” Coulson continued, “we’ve received some bad news out of Europe this morning. Another two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were killed.”

“Same MO?” Hunter asked, leaning forward in his chair to look at the news screen Coulson brought up.

“Yep. And we think we might have a lead this time. There was a piece of the weapon left behind.”

Coulson bent forward to press a couple buttons on his tablet. The picture changed to a zoomed-in image of the debris. It, as Simmons had predicted but was unable to prove so far, was a piece of wire. _Not_ a sharp blade or implement as Bobbi believed. She nodded once in satisfaction and then shot a smug glance over at Bobbi.

“OK, OK. Simmons is right. Again.”

“It’s the shape of the wounds. And the singeing on the flesh.”

“Indeed,” Coulson said. “The field agents who recovered the bodies and found this think it’s a kind of vibranium alloy that rapidly generates and conducts extreme heat. It explains how Hydra can so easily…um.”

“Decapitate people,” Simmons finally just said. The room was palpably silent for a beat.

Coulson took a breath. “Skye?”

Skye sat straighter as she reached out for her own tablet. “There are only a few people really working with this alloy, and even fewer in weapons R&D. Our best bet is this guy…” she paused for a moment, tapping a few buttons. A picture of a young, attractive man appeared on the screen. Simmons furrowed her brow; he looked strangely familiar. “Leo Fitz. He – ”

“Oh! I know him!” Simmons interjected. “I mean, I don’t _know_ him. I heard him speak at a conference once. He does some really fascinating – “

“Simmons.”

“Sorry. Please continue.”

“Leo Fitz,” Skye repeated, trying to hide her smile. “Engineering professor at MIT. Side note: the Academy tried to recruit him. Child prodigy like our dear Dr. Simmons here. He accepted too, apparently, and then changed his mind. Worked in industry a few years; Stark was even sniffing around, rumor has it. And then, right around the time his dad died, he suddenly quit and went back into academia. Uh, end side note. He has a lot of grants and contracts with the DOD and whatnot, but he also has a couple with, wait for it, Kerberos Tech, which we all know is – ”

“A Hydra shell company,” May concluded.

“A Hydra shell company,” Skye confirmed. “And yes, this is the crack team that foils our every plan. I am deeply shamed.”

Hunter narrowed his eyes at the screen, thinking. “He seems small, nerdy, typical egghead. I bet Mack and I could really shake him up. You want us to go find out what he knows?”

Simmons rolled her eyes, partly at the egghead comment and partly at Hunter’s overreliance on unrefined tactics.

“Ah, no,” Coulson replied. “I think we need a subtler approach than that. He could very well be completely unaware of the true source of his funding. On the other hand, he could have turned the spot at the Academy down for a nefarious reason. And I also want to know what else might be coming out of his lab so we have some knowledge of the things Hydra is getting their hands on.”

May nodded imperceptibly. “Send someone in.”

“Undercover,” Coulson agreed. He turned back to Skye, raising his eyebrow to indicate she should continue.

“As luck would have it, the university HR site just posted a position for a postdoc in his lab. He wants someone with a background in biochemistry.”

Simmons didn’t quite make the connection at first. It wasn’t until everyone turned to look at her that she finally figured it out. 

“Me?! U-undercover?”

Coulson shrugged. “You said you wanted to get back into the field.”

It took a bit more convincing, and a promise of intensive one-on-one training with May in how to lie, but Simmons finally agreed. Or accepted that she had no choice in the matter, anyway. Who were they going to send in – Lance? After that, the rest of the meeting passed in something of a haze as she worried about everything that could possibly go wrong.

Except – no. She wasn’t going to let a silly undercover assignment scare her. For goodness’ sake, a postdoc researcher? She could do that in her sleep. Besides, she was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. A _trained_ field agent…sort of.

And it was for that reason that she scurried after Coulson when the meeting wrapped up. 

“Director Coulson,” she called out. 

He turned to face her, and Simmons steeled herself. “I was just wondering, sir…that is, before I go, I’d like to take the field assessment, please.”

Coulson stared at her, somewhat nonplussed. “You know, Simmons,” he finally said. “There really isn’t an exam anymore. We don’t have time or resources to waste on formalities like that. Besides, you’ve been in the field for over a year now. You’ve seen more action than most people. You _are_ a field agent.”

Simmons smiled, giving a small nod in understanding. “I know, sir. But…I guess it’s the principle of the thing. It’s the only exam I’ve ever failed. And – ” she cut herself off.

“And?” Coulson prompted.

“I guess,” Simmons continued with a shrug, “it will make me feel a bit more confident with this assignment. It’s my first major mission since…since. I know I’ve been in the field in the past, sir, but look how that turned out. If I’m not throwing myself off planes, I’m…I’m…”

She dropped her eyes from Coulson, unable to maintain contact. A few moments later, his hand came up to gently squeeze her shoulder. 

Simmons clenched her hands into fists, still staring at the ground. “I’ve been working really hard with Trip,” she declared, her voice tight. “I think I could pass now. And I – I need to prove to myself that I’m a real, S.H.I.E.L.D.-certified field agent, not just the weak link he made me.”

“You weren’t the only one hurt, physically or emotionally, Simmons. You weren’t the only one who didn’t see it coming.” Coulson paused for a second. “But I imagine we could set something up. May will want to make sure you’re as prepared as possible, anyway. 

“Thank you, sir.”

Simmons turned and started walking away before she did something silly like hug him. The affection she felt almost choking her had no place in her life right now. She had no room for any emotional reactions at all, frankly. Science and S.H.I.E.L.D., that’s all she cared about. 

“Simmons,” Coulson called after her. 

She faced him again. He looked hesitant, and for a split second, she was confused. And then she realized what he was going to say.

“He’s asking for you again. Do you think there’s a chance you’d be willing to talk to him before you leave?”

Simmons sighed. It had been almost two months, and she had yet to see him. Apparently he was refusing to talk to anyone else, and she knew Coulson wasn’t going to put up with her avoidance much longer. Besides, for all she knew, he had knowledge about this Fitz and the weapons he made.

“Fine,” Simmons said, ignoring Coulson’s barely concealed look of shocked relief. “I’ll go. But don’t expect miracles.”

**

“Ready to learn my secret?” May asked, the barest trace of a smirk on her face. “Want to know how to lie?”

Simmons nodded. She wished she had brought along some paper so she could take notes. Too late now, so she just looked at May expectantly.

“Don’t lie.”

There was a long pause, and then Simmons shook her head. “I’m sorry?”

“Don’t lie,” May repeated. “Tell the truth, or at least some version of it. Think back to the train. You came up with this elaborate backstory – ”

“Yes, but it helped! It was so much better than that time – ”

“It could have ruined the whole mission. You were too out there, too…hysterical. You want to avoid attention, not draw it to you. The trick is to make no one notice or suspect you. Be as boring and nondescript as possible. And the best way to do that is to just be yourself.”

Simmons furrowed her brow. “Did you just call me boring?”

To her surprise, May actually laughed. “No! I mean…anyone. If you’re calm, collected, confident in your identity, then you can more easily slip into the background. And if you find yourself losing control, _stop talking_.”

After a moment, Simmons nodded. She was pretty sure she understood. But then she added, “That time when I… _that time_ , though, I was just being myself, and that didn’t go very well.”

May shrugged. “You were nervous, improvising. And it was your first time. There are still ways you can prepare or practice.”

“Like what?”

“Well,” May shifted in her chair, a new persona suddenly dropping over her, “Jennifer, you have an impressive CV. Why are you interested in a position like this, when you have so many other options?”

Simmons hesitated a moment. Then she sat up straighter. “Thank you, Dr. Fitz – and please, call me Simmons. Truthfully, I’ve always had an interest in…”

May grilled her for hours, giving tips, making her repeat herself over and over until the answers seemed natural. Towards the end, she started asking more personal questions, things that would never come up during an interview but might between colleagues spending long hours working side-by-side.

Simmons was exhausted by the end of it. But May’s expression just looked vaguely proud. “Well,” she said. “I’m happy to sign off on the espionage portion of your field assessment.”

“Really?”

“Yes. But you’ll still have to go against Bobbi in hand-to-hand and Trip in marksmanship.”

“Oh God.” Simmons’ shoulders fell.

May flashed a quick smile and stood up. Before she made it to the door, however, Simmons called out to her. She turned around and faced her again. 

“How do you…” Simmons asked. “That is, if you’re being yourself, or some version of yourself, how do you keep it straight? How do you make sure you know where the line is between the real you and the fake you? How do you…protect yourself? Or protect other people from being hurt by you?”

May sighed. After a long moment, she replied, “I’ll let you know if I ever figure it out.”

Simmons didn’t respond. And then, just as May turned to leave again, she called out her name once more. The expression on May’s face when she looked at Simmons again suggested she knew what question was coming and she was dreading it. But Simmons had to know.

“Does that mean he was telling the truth, do you think?”

May held her gaze, steady and unblinking. “Probably,” she said and Simmons tried not to flinch. “Or some version of it.”

Simmons looked down at her hands, trying to process that answer. May’s voice continued, comforting yet still hard.

“ _But_ just because he believed something to be true doesn’t mean it was. And his truth doesn’t have to be your truth. Although…it can become your weapon.”

Simmons looked up at May then, who winked back at her before she finally left the room.

**

“Jemma!” He looked startled to see her. He jumped off the cot as soon as she lowered the force field and he could see her. “You came. It’s – it’s so good to see you.”

“It’s Simmons,” was her only reply.

He walked closer to the barrier, and it took everything inside her to keep her feet planted and stay where she was. She was rather proud of herself when she managed to stand firm. He opened his mouth to say something, but she beat him to it.

“What do you know about Hydra’s weapon supply? Did you ever hear anything about this wire thing?”

He began pacing, turning his head to the side to look at her as he moved. “That’s not _really_ why you’re here, is it?”

Simmons crossed her arms. “Yes. It is.” 

He stopped directly in front of her and shook his head. “I know you’ve been thinking about me as much I have been about you.”

“You’re delusional.”

His smile was sudden and sharp, predatory around the edges. “You’re a terrible liar, Agent Simmons. That’s how I know that this – ” He moved a hand back and forth to indicate them both. “It’s all real.”

Simmons lost what little composure she had and exhaled a pained, humorless laugh. “Real? _Real?_ You lied to me, Ward. You killed people; you killed _Callie_! And for what, for – ”

“It wasn’t a lie. How I feel about you, it’s not a lie.”

Simmons shook her head, glancing away. She took a breath, and then another, and then faced him again. “The wire. You ever hear anything about where they got it? Who Hydra works with?”

He shrugged dismissively, then turned away from her. 

“Fine,” she said in resignation. She knew this would accomplish nothing. “I have to go pack anyway.”

She was halfway to the stairs when she heard him respond. He sounded almost anxious. “Pack?”

“I’m going on vacation. Visiting my parents,” she called over her shoulder breezily.

His next statement stopped her in her tracks though. “Maybe you’re getting better at lying, Jemma. I almost believed you. But you’re still not good enough.”

She faced him again, her expression as hard as she could make it. Before she could say anything, he sighed, affecting a long-suffering attitude.

“I know there was someone Garrett and Quinn talked to a lot, someone who provided them with all sorts of fancy little gadgets. I don’t know his name. They always called him the Professor.”

Simmons felt a clench of fear at her heart. What exactly was she getting herself into? And then she steeled herself again. She started to walk up the stairs, but decided to give him something in return. Play the game. Use his feelings as a weapon. 

“Ward, the _only_ reason you’re still here and still alive is because Coulson thinks you have information. If you don’t give him what he wants, he has no reason to keep you. Please start talking – fast.”

“I knew you cared,” he called out after her, but she didn’t turn or even react. She just let the door close behind her. And then she started shaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about MIT, so don't expect anything to be depicted at all realistically.


	2. I’ll Spend Forever Wondering if You Knew (I Was Enchanted to Meet You)

Simmons leaned through the open door, trying to look friendlier and less nervous than she felt. She knocked on the side, and the young guy at the nearest workstation looked up. 

“Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for, um, Leo Fitz. I have an interview with him.”

The guy smiled. “Don’t call him Leo, or you won’t get hired. You’re Jennifer Simmons, I take it?”

“Yes. Just Simmons is fine.”

“Ah, another last name only person,” he joked as he stepped away from the table and reached his hand out for Simmons to shake. “I’m Donnie Gill. You can actually call me Donnie, believe it or not. I’m one of Fitz’ graduate students.”

Simmons nodded in greeting but couldn’t think of what to say next. Thankfully, Donnie kept talking. 

“He’s running late, I think. At a committee meeting, but should have been back ten minutes ago. You can have a seat if you want,” he added, looking around for a chair or stool.

“Oh no, thanks. I’d rather stand, I think,” Simmons replied, running a shaking hand down her stomach.

“Nervous?” Donnie grinned. “Don’t be. Little secret for you,” he said as he leaned in conspiratorially, “as soon as he saw your CV, he threw the others away. You’re the only one he’s called in for an interview.”

“Oh!” Simmons couldn’t help the smile. Even incredibly pared down and with a fake name and graduation years (which the university systems now reflected, thanks to Skye’s genius), her CV was still apparently good enough to make people sit up and notice. 

Before either of them could continue, someone clomped into the room with a loud noise of irritation. Simmons faced the door and immediately recognized her target. Showtime.

**

“You know,” Fitz complained as he struggled to hang his coat up on the rack next to the door without spilling the contents of his travel mug, “when I was a grad student, I used to wonder ‘can I really spend my life trying to teach idiot undergrads?’ But they’re not bad, really. They’re stupid in an adorable, hormonal kind of way. It’s the _faculty_ stupidity at these interminable campus committees I should have been worried about. I mean, my God, Turner from – hi.”

Fitz’ eyes went wide as he finally noticed the (holy God, gorgeous) woman next to Donnie. She offered a small smile and a quick wave, and Fitz tried to find some kind of response. He was literally a genius, for Christ’s sake.

“Jennifer Simmons,” Donnie eventually cut in. “Interview for the postdoc?”

“That was today?!” It was maybe not the intelligent, suave statement Fitz was looking for. Donnie simply nodded, and the – the – she fought another little smile. It made her eyes sparkle.

Fitz was screwed.

“Sorry,” he finally said, lifting one hand to scratch at his eyebrow. “Sorry, yes, of course. I’ll, ah, be right with you. You can go take a seat in my office if you’d like. Something to drink?”

She shook her head, and then stepped away in the direction he had pointed. Fitz watched her disappear, still feeling somewhat blindsided.

Donnie leaned closer to whisper in his ear. “What was that about hormonal stupidity?”

“Shut up.” Donnie’s only response was a snicker, and Fitz added, “I haven’t signed off on your dissertation yet, remember.”

**

As soon as Simmons entered the small office attached to the lab room, she wanted to start cleaning. She wasn’t entirely sure how someone could work surrounded by so much clutter. It was something of a surprise, too, considering how pristine the lab was. She shook her head and then stepped forward, gingerly lifting what appeared to be some kind of prototype off the guest chair.

“Here, let me take that,” Fitz said behind her and Simmons spun in surprise, almost hitting him with the prototype.

“Oh! Oh my God, I’m so – ”

“It’s OK,” he interrupted with a chuckle. He then reached out and took the item from her. “Sit, sit,” he instructed. 

She did, trying not to laugh as he looked hopelessly around the room for a place to put the design down. Finally, he just dropped it in a corner. Simmons cringed at the sound of something tearing, but he didn’t seem to care. 

“So,” he sat down on the other side of the desk, scanning it quickly with his eyes, one hand hovering above the pile of half-marked student work. Then his hand darted out, and he pulled her CV from underneath two journals. He looked up at her, with a smile that really was quite attractive, Simmons couldn’t help but notice, and very blue eyes. 

She took a breath.

“Dr. Simmons,” he continued.

“Just – sorry, just Simmons is fine.”

He half-stood from his chair, one hand out, and she leaned forward to shake it. “Right, I’m Fitz. Obviously. And I’m not usually this scattered, really. Well, that’s a lie, but I guess it goes with the job description. Absent-minded professor and all that. And you’re English!”

“Yes! So, we have that in common. I mean, not being English but…” _Stop talking_.

He grinned, and she relaxed a bit. “British, at least.”

“Yes.”

“Though even just saying that riles up my inner Mel Gibson,” he concluded, laughing softly. Before she could respond, he kept talking. “So…let me tell you a bit about this project, and then I have a couple questions for you, and obviously you can ask me any questions too.”

Simmons nodded. “Sounds good.”

“I don’t know how much you looked into the lab when you saw the posting, but my specialty is non-lethal weapons and other equipment – tracking devices and things – used by military, police, people like that. What I want to start designing is a…a stun gun, of sorts, that can knock someone out with some sort of…I don’t know, a chemical or something. Small amount, cost effective, would need to transport safely in the field but work as soon as it was needed. That’s where you’d come in. I have a couple sketches, but that’s it. We’d really be starting from the very beginning. And depending on how long that takes and how well the collaboration goes, I have plenty of other ideas.”

“That sounds interesting,” Simmons observed honestly, taking the drawing he held out to her. She stared at it for a minute, turning it around to see all angles. “Very interesting.”

Fitz nodded, another small smile on his face. “So, one of my first questions is just to make sure that’s something you’d be comfortable with. Not everyone likes designing weaponry.”

“Well,” she paused to consider, wondering if her answer would have been different a couple months ago, or if she’d always been as ruthless as she now felt. “No, I don’t really have any problems. I don’t _like_ violence, but sometimes it’s needed. I suppose I’d prefer if weapons were non-lethal in those cases, though. But, really, it’s all about who’s using it, right? The weapon is neutral; what matters is the wielder’s…potential,” she concluded with a private smile as she remembered back to simpler days at the Academy, when all these concepts were abstract.

“Yes, exactly!” Fitz replied. “I feel the same way. Take this one project of ours, for example. This wire that’s made out of a vibranium alloy. Conducts heat real well, can cut through just about anything – steel, concrete.”

Flesh and bone, Simmons added silently.

“We’ve been field-testing it in different scenarios,” Fitz continued. “Escaping capture, rescuing trapped victims from destroyed buildings, possibly even medical purposes, like really fine-tuned cauterization. So many potential applications. But in the wrong hands…” He held a palm up leadingly.

Oh, you’re _good_ , Simmons thought, with an internal shake of her head. She wasn’t going to fall for the innocent Boy Scout act again.

**

Five days after the interview, Simmons was starting to wonder if she had blown it somehow. She still hadn’t received an offer. It would be just fitting if, the first time Coulson really asked her to step up after everything, her first time as a real field agent, she couldn’t even complete the first step. And honestly, all she had to do was impress someone in academia with her biochemistry skills. It wasn’t that demanding of an operation.

She was pacing back and forth in her small bunk back at the Playground. She had never unpacked her suitcase from the trip, but she hadn’t yet convinced herself she should start packing the rest of her things for when she’d have to move to a campus-adjacent flat suitable for a postdoc salary. Mack and Hunter were already scouting places that would be easy to monitor and sneak into for info exchanges. She hoped they hadn’t wasted the effort. 

Her phone rang.

She raced over to the bed to pick it up. It was him, it had to be. She recognized the area code, and realized it must be his personal number. 

Following the plan made days ago, she let the phone simply continue to ring. Soon, it would go to voicemail, and they’d be able to take the recording for analysis. Any trace of underlying deceit or reticence in his voice would be carefully scrutinized. And now, with this stroke of luck, Skye would be able to start the search for records of calls made with his private line. 

Holding the phone out in front of her, as if she were irrationally afraid it was going to explode, Simmons hurried into the hallway and towards the conference room. It stopped ringing when she was only a few steps away.

“It’s him!” she announced as she entered. Bobbi and Skye were the only ones in there, and they looked up excitedly. 

“Should I call Coulson and May?” Bobbi asked.

“Let’s just listen to the message first,” Simmons replied, still somewhat fearful it would be a rejection. It’d be easier to take, somehow, with just these two women with her. 

Finally, the phone beeped to indicate a new voicemail. Simmons took a deep breath, leaned forward to place the phone in the center of the table, and turned it on speaker. And then she brought up the message and pressed play. 

“Ah, hello, Simmons. It’s Fitz. From…well, you probably don’t know that many Fitzes, huh? Anyway. I’m just calling to offer you the job. I’ve been working with the budget people here; I’ve been able to move some money around and get you more than the advertised salary. You’re really worth more than that. That’s what took me so long to get back to you. So, yeah. We can talk details – start dates, relocation issues, and, um, uh…any other accommodations you might need. Ring me anytime. The job’s yours if you want me – to _work with_ me – it – the job, I mean.” 

There was a mumble that sounded something like _hang up_ and then a click and silence. 

“I did it,” Simmons whispered, feeling somewhat thrown.

Bobbi and Skye snorted almost in unison, looked at each other, and then fought to stifle cackles. Simmons furrowed her brow in confusion.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Skye replied, before pressing her tongue tightly against the inside of one cheek.

“What do you think he meant by accommodations? He seemed somehow specifically vague about that,” Bobbi observed, apparently trying to stay on track or at least distract Simmons from their reaction.

“Oh,” Simmons waved a hand dismissively. “That’s academia-speak. Spousal accommodation, I’m sure he meant. They’ll try to help find a spouse a position somewhere at the university. Much more common with faculty positions, but not unheard of for other sorts of jobs. He was probably just uncomfortable about it because there’s a fine line between illegal-to-ask and incentive-to-offer.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s why,” Skye barely said, before she started spluttering. Bobbi smacked her arm.

“OK, what?!” Simmons demanded.

Skye put her hands up in a _come on_ gesture. “He was fishing around to see if you had a significant other! He _likes_ you!”

Simmons rolled her eyes, not even feeling embarrassed because the suggestion was so ludicrous. “He does not!”

Bobbi nodded, somewhat condescendingly. Simmons preferred when she was trying to shut Skye up about the matter. “Did you not hear that message? ‘If you want me?’”

“Well, yes. It was a little awkward. Some people are simply not good at speaking on the phone.”

“He _likes_ you,” Skye repeated, slower and louder. 

The blush was starting to rise now, but it was caused as much by anger as embarrassment. “Stop,” Simmons said. “Just – don’t. He…he likes my brain. That’s it.”

“Don’t underestimate your allure, Jemma Simmons,” Skye continued to tease, apparently not noticing Simmons’ darkening mood or Bobbi’s warning hand on her arm. “Because, you know, ‘you’re really worth more than that.’”

Simmons stood up, slamming her palm down on the table before reaching out for the phone. “Maybe he does like me,” she said, her voice shaking ( _dammit_ ). “If he does, we’ll know for sure he’s Hydra, since those are the guys I seem to attract. Or, hey, maybe that’s the angle I should play here. We all know the nerdy science types just need a little flirting and a kiss or two to be totally hoodwinked. I’ll have him right where I want him.”

She turned and left the room in what she was unfortunately sure could be deemed a flounce. She ignored both of them calling out her name.

Several hours later, she was still curled up on the bed in her bunk, thankful she had been able to hold back the tears (it had been tough at some points, but she soldiered through) and pretty sure she was finally ready to go look for Coulson. And that’s when Skye entered with a soft knock. Simmons didn’t turn to face her, but she knew it was Skye by the hesitant way she tiptoed across the room and then seemed to forget all her reluctance when she crawled onto the bed next to Simmons and wrapped an arm around her waist. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I know,” Simmons whispered back.

They were both silent for several moments, and then Simmons confessed, still barely audible, “I’m really scared I’m going to screw this up.”

“I know,” Skye whispered back, a slight smile clear in her voice as she copied Simmons’ response. Then she added sincerely, “But you won’t.”

Another long silence, and then Skye started giggling. “Did you really use the word _hoodwinked_?”

Simmons lifted a hand to her face and groaned. “Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Fitz and Donnie's relationship in this fic is perhaps a bit too informal for a typical mentor/student relationship, at least in my experience. But it's funnier this way, plus they both need a friend.
> 
> Also, again in my experience/field, it is almost impossible to be able to negotiate a spousal accommodation with a postdoc (though the internet tells me it has been known to happen). But...funnier this way.


	3. I Can’t Say Hello to You (and Risk Another Goodbye)

“OK,” Skye instructed, her voice teary as she hugged Simmons goodbye. “Be careful. Don’t try to be brave.”

“I won’t,” Simmons promised.

They stepped back then, and Simmons looked to May for any last minute advice. May just nodded at her. “You’re going to be fine.”

Simmons smiled.

“Remember, minimal contact. Trip will be your point person, but he’ll only come by once in a while. Drop your cover and sound the alarm if you need to.”

Simmons took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and nodded. “I’m going to be fine,” she repeated. 

Skye stepped forward one last time, reaching out to lightly punch Simmons on the arm. “Stick it to Hydra. Do it for Callie.”

The sinking feeling in her stomach was a little less pronounced than it usually was at the sound of her old lab mate’s name. She wondered if that was a good or a bad thing. Simmons hadn’t yet forgiven herself for recruiting the young girl, barely out of the Academy, with tales of adventure and seeing the world. All she had done was gotten her killed. 

No. _No_. Simmons had to start remembering who actually deserved the blame. 

She stepped over to the door and held it open. As May and Skye walked out, she added, “You be careful too. I want you all there safe and sound when I get back. I mean, except Ward. Do whatever you want with him.”

May gave her a little smirk, and then they walked down the hall. Simmons waited until they were well out of sight and she couldn’t even hear the sound of their footsteps anymore before she closed the door.

**

Donnie waved cheerfully at Simmons as she entered the lab on her first official day. She had spent the previous afternoon in HR, filling out endless paperwork, constantly reminding herself that her name was _Jennifer_.

“I set up a computer for you over there,” Donnie said, tilting his head towards a bench in the corner. “And I’m supposed to tell you, um, anything you need to order, supplies or whatever, just make a list.”

“Oh, great,” Simmons replied, walking over to her new workspace. She put her bag down on the stool and faced Donnie again.

“You know, you could probably order as many expensive…biochem things as you want,” Donnie continued with a laugh. “We don’t know anything about that stuff, and Fitz will sign off on whatever we put in front of him.”

“Except your dissertation,” came Fitz’ voice from the other side of the room and she whirled to face him. 

“That joke’s still not funny,” Donnie shot back.

Fitz shrugged, turning his attention to Simmons. He smiled at her, and she couldn’t help but remember Bobbi’s and Skye’s teasing. Trying not to blush, she lifted one hand to tuck her hair behind her ear.

“So, ah, Donnie’s got you set up here,” Fitz said, turning away to face the bench. “I usually work at the one right, um, right next to it, so we’ll be able to work together a lot. Well, as much as necessary, I mean.”

Simmons nodded, secretly pleased. Because she’ll be able to monitor him closely then.

“But, ah,” he paused to look at his watch. “I have to go now, actually. Time to mold young minds. So…here.” Simmons took the packet he handed her. “This is a copy of the grant proposal that’s funding the gun. Why don’t you give it a read, and we can talk more when I get back?”

“OK.”

“OK…” He pivoted slightly a couple times, as if he were unsure which direction he wanted to head. “Ah, OK,” he repeated more firmly. “Bye.”

And then he was gone. Simmons watched as he left the room and then glanced at Donnie. He was back to working on his own project, but he was shaking his head ever so slightly. Simmons wondered what that was all about.

She inhaled sharply, blew the puff of air out, and went to sit down. Looking at the cover page of the document, she felt a little thrill at her first real piece of information. The funder wasn’t the DOD or Kerberos.

It was Quinn Worldwide. 

There was something smudged out underneath the title of the proposal. It looked like someone had attempted and failed to erase a handwritten comment. Simmons leaned closer, trying to read it. 

“Night-night gun?” she whispered to herself in confusion.

**

Fitz’ return was as whirlwind as pretty much everything he did, Simmons was starting to realize. He dropped a pile of papers on Donnie’s desk before stepping to the side to remove and hang up his coat.

“What’s this?” Donnie asked, reaching out for the pile and clearly hiding a groan.

“Extra credit pop quiz. Apparently a third of the class thought today’s lecture was optional. Mark ‘em when you get a chance.”

“Why do I get punished for their rudeness?”

Fitz smirked at him. “Because you’re cheap labor and have to do what I say.”

“Or you won’t sign off on my dissertation?” Donnie asked, the sarcasm practically dripping from his tongue.

“Bingo.” Fitz turned to Simmons then, ignoring Donnie’s continued grumbling. 

“I’m just giving everyone full points,” Donnie announced.

Fitz shrugged, not even looking back as he responded, “Whatever, I don’t care. Did you read the proposal?”

Simmons did a quick double-take as she realized he was talking to her. “Oh. Yes!”

“Great! Want to brainstorm ideas?” He started walking towards his office before she could even reply, and then stopped suddenly. “Actually, I’m starving. We’ll do a working lunch. My treat.”

Simmons, who had practically run into him and knocked him over, struggled a bit as she attempted to process the change in plans and then nodded. As he indicated for her to lead the way, she could feel his hand hover for a moment just by the small of her back. It never quite touched her, though, and seconds later, she sensed him put the hand in his pocket instead. She guided him to the door, pausing as they grabbed their coats off the rack. Simmons felt a strange, almost fond, little smile hinting at her mouth as she realized how threadbare his jacket looked up close. He apparently did not put much thought into his wardrobe. And then she kept walking.

“I want a sandwich,” Donnie yelled.

“Don’t you have quizzes to mark?” Fitz shouted back. Simmons shook her head and tried not to laugh. And she chose not to say anything when, later, he grabbed a to-go sandwich from the campus deli. 

It really was too bad he was Hydra.

**

If he scooted his chair a little off-center, and then kicked his feet on the desk so he could lean back, Fitz had a perfect view into the lab from his office. It was just a good idea to keep his eye on things, make sure no one was blowing anything up or something. Or what if – what if someone got injured but couldn’t call out for help? What if the Dean came in to freak the hell out of him and tell him he had to go to another alumni-schmoozing event? He wanted to be prepared for any eventuality.

It had nothing to do with Simmons’ bench being right in his line of vision. Nothing to do with the way her hair fell over her face when she leaned down to inspect her work. Nothing to do with the bright smile she’d occasionally send to Donnie when they were having a conversation that Fitz couldn’t quite hear. 

Nothing to do with how she was currently, oh God, shaking a bottle of reagent one-handed in a classic jerk-off motion. Nothing at all.

Fitz’ feet slammed to the ground as he sat up straight. He moved his chair back to the center of his desk and pulled up the university handbook online to review the sexual harassment policy. He wanted to be prepared for any eventuality.

**

Simmons tilted her head to one side, stretching the tight muscles in her neck. Absent-mindedly, she reached up to pull the tie out of her hair and shook it loose. Before she could tie it back again, tighter and neater than it had been before, there was a clattering noise from the bench next to her. She looked up curiously. Fitz appeared very angry as he tried to piece back together the prototype that had just fallen apart in his hands.

“Mother of all things,” he whispered, staring intently at the section in front of him.

Simmons pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t smile at the phrase. On the other side of her, she heard Donnie mutter _good Lord_ in a rather exasperated tone. Apparently both engineers were having difficulties with their projects. Thankfully, her own experiment was going well. The narcotic she was preparing would soon be ready to test. Deep down, she knew it wasn’t going to work though. She still thought the best solution would be a dendrotoxin but she had yet to convince Fitz of that. She’d work on him again at their next meeting. 

And…try to find out some more intel too, of course.

**

Fitz stared rather blankly ahead as he filled his travel mug. He was about to head out to brave both the weather and a two-hour seminar with 20 students, probably only 10 of whom actually thoroughly read the assigned articles, if he was lucky. He was definitely going to need a hot, caffeinated beverage.

“Ooh, tea,” Simmons practically purred, suddenly appearing right behind him. Fitz would have congratulated himself for not jumping in surprise, but that probably was due to the fact that he had developed an acute awareness of exactly where she was in the lab at all times and he wasn’t sure that was something to be proud of.

“Want some?” he asked

“What kind is it?”

“Ah, Earl Grey.”

“Make it so,” she replied with a nod.

Fitz fought a grin. “Nerd.”

**

OK, it was time to get serious. Simmons had received a not-so-subtle reminder with the latest dead drop that they needed something besides the Quinn connection, which wasn’t even really a connection so much as a very suspicious circumstance. So she timed beginning her experiment just right on Friday afternoon so there’d be a time point necessary the next day. She’d be completely justified going into the lab then. And while she was there, alone, she’d…well, she’d snoop a bit.

It was a perfect plan, until it all fell apart. Because she wasn’t there alone.

She had unlocked the door cautiously, looking around for any out-of-place janitors or overly ambitious undergrads. And then she had almost tiptoed into the lab. First, she’d take care of the samples. And then she’d – 

“Hey.”

Simmons jumped nearly a foot in the air, one hand flying to her chest as she yelped. Yeah, that field training really worked out well apparently.

“H-hi,” she responded, turning to face the office door fully. 

Fitz was leaning back in his chair, legs propped up on his desk and a stack of paper resting on his lap. Simmons couldn’t help but notice that the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up past his elbows, revealing his forearms (she had a bit of a thing for forearms, she freely admitted), and that his jeans were quite well-worn. If he stood, she imagined she would see that they fit him like a – she took a deep breath.

“Sorry for startling you,” he said, smiling apologetically. “What are you doing here?”

She pointed at her bench, unable to verbalize a reply. 

“…Chemistry stuff?” he asked. 

She nodded, thankful that he probably wouldn’t ask her to explain more, because she didn’t think she could. He usually just trusted that she knew what she was doing. Except regarding the dendrotoxin, which she _knew_ was the right choice. He had hired her for a reason after all, but he could be so stubborn. It made her want to…anyway.

“What,” she finally managed to say, “what are _you_ doing here?”

He held up the paper in his hands. “Donnie emailed me a chapter last night,” he explained. “I read better here – no distractions.”

“Oh,” Simmons said, feeling even more self-conscious. “I’ll be quick then.”

“Don’t worry,” Fitz replied, a bit too quickly. “I’m almost done.”

Simmons set to work, still feeling shaky from the adrenaline racing through her. It took her only a few minutes to finish with the samples but she couldn’t bring herself to leave again. If she couldn’t snoop, she could at least try to get more information on Fitz from the man himself. She walked over to his office again and knocked politely on the side of the door. 

He didn’t even glance up, just raised a hand to wave her in and then immediately switched to just his index finger. She waited as he read the last page, flipped it over and then focused his entire attention on her. 

“Everything OK?”

Simmons nodded. “Yes, I’m finished. I just thought I’d say goodbye,” she lied. And then she smiled a bit, adding “I can’t believe you gave up your Saturday to read Donnie’s chapter. I guess you like him after all.” 

“Donnie?” Fitz tilted his head back with a quick, quiet laugh. “Don’t tell him I said this, but he’s brilliant. Reminds me of me when I was his age,” he added with a wink.

Simmons smirked at the half-compliment, half-boast. She casually stepped farther into the office and took a seat in the guest chair. “Last year, you mean?”

Fitz tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Not quite but…touché.”

“How old were you, exactly, when you got your Ph.D.?”

“Ah,” he looked down, seeming almost embarrassed, “seventeen.”

“Oh, me – ” Simmons cleared her throat. “Oh my, that _is_ young. And then you made a splash in industry before giving it all up for the luxurious world of academia.”

He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. Simmons wondered if she should keep pushing or if she was risking going too far. But then he started talking, quietly and hesitantly.

“I never wanted to go into industry. I actually – well, there was something else I wanted to do, but…my father got sick and I had to give up that opportunity. I’m sure you know the NHS can be great, but it can’t work miracles. He was in and out of the hospital; my mom was only working part-time, exhausted from caring for him, and then he – anyway, the job paid a lot of bills.”

Simmons nodded in understanding, the sympathy she felt nearly overshadowing her curiosity over his apparent regret at having to give up the spot at the Academy. She wondered if she could get him talking about that more, but she couldn’t find a way to ask casually.

“I hated every minute of it,” Fitz continued with a somewhat forced laugh. “So much emphasis on profit and shareholders’ interests and so many limitations and restrictions on what I was supposed to be researching or designing and – ugh. When my father…well, when he died and after everything was finally settled, I didn’t give it a second thought. Got out and got the job here almost immediately.”

After a moment, Simmons offered a small smile and said, “I’m sorry about your father.”

He shrugged as he glanced away, looking almost boyish. His attempt at nonchalance didn’t fool her, and she was filled with an uncharacteristic urge to walk around the desk, to sit in his lap and pull him into a hug and – goodness, where did that idea even come from?

She shook her head slightly and swallowed. She tended to forget, sometimes, how good Hydra agents were at manipulating emotions.


	4. The First Date (Man, I Didn’t Kiss Her and I Should Have)

“About time you got back, man!” Donnie nearly shouted, and Simmons jumped in surprise.

Looking up, she saw Donnie leave his bench and walk over to give a quick hug to another young man. They patted each other’s backs and then pulled away. If she had to guess, she was pretty sure this was – 

“Oh, Simmons,” Donnie interrupted her thoughts. “This is Seth. Dormer. The other grad student here, finally back from his fancy-dancy trip to _Quinn Worldwide_.”

“Wooww,” Simmons pretended to be impressed as her brain started working overtime. 

“Yeah, well,” Seth shrugged. “It’s not as big of a deal as he’s making it. I just used some of their equipment to test my design.”

“Seems like a pretty big deal to me.”

“I know,” Donnie agreed. “I’m super jealous.”

“So, how’d you manage that, anyway?” Simmons asked, trying to sound casually interested instead of suspicious.

Before he could answer, Fitz shouted from his office. “I don’t pay you lot to gossip!”

Donnie’s grin was far too amused as he rolled his eyes at Simmons and turned back to work. And Seth laughed as he walked towards the office with a “Hey, Fitz!” But Simmons was mostly just frustrated that he had rather conveniently blocked her from learning more. 

Still, it was definitely enough info to warrant a dead drop. And maybe even a visit from Trip with instructions. Simmons hoped so, anyway, because she was feeling incredibly lonely without news from the team. Each evening was getting harder and harder, trying to pass the time by herself, feeling in equal parts bored, sad, and scared about her current situation. And the insomnia wasn’t helping either, if the new bookshelf (and enough novels to fill it) that she had ordered online the night before were any indication. It had been almost a month, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could do this.

**

_His arms were strong and solid around her, holding her tight, both comforting and protective. She clung to him, her heart pounding._

\--

_Her fingers brushed over the muscles of his chest, his arms, his stomach. She tried to be calm, clinical, but she could feel her pulse start to pick up. And when she glanced at him, he was staring back at her, an unnerving heat in his eyes._

\--

_They had work to do, a problem to solve, but they couldn’t stop looking at each other, smiling across the room._

\--

_His fingers brushed her cheek as he stared at her, his eyes vulnerable and open. He talked about his past, his hopes for the future, and then he leaned in, kissed her softly. She couldn’t stop the moan deep in her chest, could hardly believe this was finally happening after they had danced around it for so long._

\--

_She barely recognized him. The coldness in his eyes was terrifying. The hard set of his jaw that had disappeared the more he relaxed, the more the team had jelled, was back. She looked at him, pleading, confused, and he just stared back at her, unmoved. She stepped forward, hands up as she begged him. And then she deliberately moved to the side so she was directly between him and – he lifted his hand, shooting the gun almost instantaneously, and she screamed, flinching and waiting for the pain. It never came. Instead, she heard Callie’s body thump to the ground behind her._

Simmons jerked awake, her pulse racing and the panic nearly paralyzing her. She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. Maybe, she finally admitted, it wasn’t the insomnia that was keeping her awake, so much as a refusal to close her eyes and see – see it all again. See how stupid she had been, how slow, when it had mattered most. 

Like she had indicated to Bobbi and Skye, she really should have known better. She wasn’t completely inexperienced, but she wasn’t exactly the belle of the ball either. Guys typically didn’t go for girls like her.

If one did, he was probably up to no good.

**

The following Friday, she was the only one in the lab. Fitz was teaching a late afternoon class and planned to leave straight from there, and the boys had left early to catch up over beers. Which gave her the perfect opportunity to do some snooping, after she finished cleaning up her workstation. She turned the stereo on, and then turned up the volume when she heard Taylor Swift bitching about exes. What could she say - the song kind of spoke to her soul.

Her efforts at cleaning were perhaps not the most efficient, since she was dancing around at the same time, but she was having too much fun. It reminded her, in a way, of graduate school or even at the Academy when all she ever had to worry about was science. When her work was only ever fun. A little part of her missed it, would miss this when the mission was over and she was back at the Playground.

She tapped the beat out on the counter with her fingers, practically shouting the last few words, and then she turned to grab the spray bottle from next to the sink. As she turned though, she spotted Fitz in the lab door, his eyebrows raised in surprise and his mouth somewhere between an O and a grin. He held his mobile up to his ear but seemed to have forgotten about his conversation.

Simmons jumped and let out a little squawk, and then as soon as she regained some composure, reached over to turn off the stereo. She leaned against the bench, propping herself up with one hand while she lifted the other to straighten her hair.

“I thought you were heading home right after class,” she observed somewhat breathlessly.

Fitz stared at her for one more brief moment. “I’m gonna have to call you back,” he said into the phone. After a pause, he added, “No, tomorrow, at a reasonable hour.” And then he mumbled a quick _love you_ and Simmons tried to ignore the little shock of – jealousy? No. No, surprise. Or something. 

“I forgot my wallet,” he explained, clearly still trying not to laugh. “How’s it going?

“Oh, you…you know, just…tidying up for the day.”

He bit his lower lip, nodded and then disappeared into his office. Simmons quickly finished cleaning up, feeling the embarrassment still burning on her face. She wanted, needed to get out of there before he came back out and teased her more. She’d just have to give up on the prospect of snooping yet again. Finally, she was finished and she quickly grabbed her coat.

“See you Monday!” she called out.

“Hold up, I’ll walk out with you.”

Damn it.

Seconds later, he had joined her by the door to the lab. She waited, somewhat awkwardly, while he locked it. And then they headed down the hall, with Simmons glancing over at him every few steps, just waiting for the comment she knew had to be coming.

He finally caught her looking and laughed once, sharply. “I’m not going to say anything.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Who among us – ” he asked seriously, pausing for a moment to reach out and pull the building door open for her. As she stepped out into the cool night, Simmons shivered and pulled her zipper higher. “ – hasn’t rocked out to Taylor Swift alone in the lab?”

She shot him a disbelieving look.

“My current favorite is ‘Shake it Off,’” he added. 

Simmons snorted, shaking her head as she kept walking. He sent a smile at her and then looked at the ground in front of him, sliding his hands into his pockets. 

“Any exciting plans for the weekend?” he asked.

“Well, I had a bookcase delivered the other day that I have to put together, so…I’ll be trying to turn bad drawings into meaningful directions.”

He glanced at her, hesitated for a moment, and then said, “You need any help?”

“Oh! Um…”

And then he shook his head, quickly looking ahead again. “Or not, whatever.”

Simmons tried to think, wondered how she could use this to gain more information or position herself better as a confidant or…but all she could really think, if she were honest, was that she’d like to see what he was like outside the lab. And that seemed more dangerous than if the mission were her sole reason. And more tempting. Finally, she realized she had paused for too long and just needed to say _something_.

“I’m sure you probably have better things to do with your Friday night than screw things in my bedroom.”

Not _that_. 

Simmons barely noticed Fitz stumble over nothing as she stared straight ahead. Her eyes were wide, and her pulse was pounding, and _what did she just say?_

After a long moment, he started out with “I – uh – ” and she just shook her head quickly, making a small noise of protest. 

“Well, I guess that depends,” he finally said, the amusement in his voice about double what it was after he had seen her dancing. “Would I get to nail things too?”

Without even looking, she threw her hand out, smacking his arm. He just curved away from her in defense and started snickering. And Simmons felt her embarrassment start to fade. 

“Sorry,” he eventually added. “That was – I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, I – it was my fault.”

“Look,” he said firmly. “How about I just follow you home, put together your damn bookcase, and we never speak about this again?”

“Deal,” Simmons agreed.

**

A couple beers and some creative swearing later, Fitz just asked if she trusted him and threw away the directions. Simmons, stretched out on her bed and giggling just enough to tell her she had a buzz, watched as he proceeded to build what was probably the most structurally sound $50 bookcase ever. He had taken off his tie and plaid button-down while he worked, leaving just a t-shirt – a very thin t-shirt. Simmons couldn’t help but notice his torso was unsurprisingly lean but still rather…nice.

She took another sip of beer.

Just when she was starting to feel a little flustered, the radio next to her bed, which had been providing some soft background noise, switched to “You Belong with Me”. Fitz looked up at her with a too-smug grin, and Simmons rolled her eyes. She turned onto her stomach, bending one knee so her foot was in the air as she stretched her arm out to turn the volume up. 

“Son of a – ” Fitz bit out moments later. 

When she turned back around, he was sucking the side of his thumb into his mouth and had a pained expression on his face. 

“Are you OK?” she asked, moving quickly to slide off the bed and onto the ground next to him. She reached out for his hand, and he flinched away.

“Yeah, just – the screwdriver slipped.”

“Let me see,” she instructed, pulling his hand closer. “Do you need a plaster?”

“No, it’s…”

He trailed off as she pressed his skin lightly with her fingers. At that moment, Simmons realized how close they were.

“It’s just a scrape,” she finally said, her voice a bit rough. She forced a more casual tone and added, “Don’t be a baby.”

“Hey! I’m – ” he started to protest, and Simmons just exhaled a laugh. Mindlessly, she bent down to plant a kiss on his injury, and his fingers twitched in an aborted curl around her own. And then they both froze.

And then, thank God, the doorbell rang.

“Food!” Simmons all but shouted, jumping to her feet and running for the front door. 

He followed her more slowly and was just entering the main room as she flung the door open. And then she proceeded to panic. Because while the man in front of her was holding the Chinese she was expecting, he wasn’t the delivery person. 

“Trip!”

He grinned at her, clearly excited to see her. And then he looked past her to Fitz.

“Oh. Hey,” he said, his tone some strange mix of gleeful surprise, discomfort and wary concern. 

Simmons whirled to face Fitz too, unconsciously stepping back closer to Trip. “This is Fitz,” she introduced, wishing she knew why her voice was so high-pitched and fast and what she could do to stop it. “Fitz, this is Trip, my…he’s my…” Colleague? Friend? Brother? _What?_

“Boyfriend,” Trip finally supplied.

“Boyfriend,” Simmons repeated, and she was pretty sure only dogs could hear her now. 

It really was the perfect cover. An out of town boyfriend, surprising her for a weekend visit. She should have been happy Trip was so quick on his feet. But mostly, as she saw Fitz’ eyes widen, she just wanted to scream.

**

Simmons watched, a little in awe, as Trip stuffed an entire crab rangoon into his mouth. Fitz had practically run out of the flat after a few awkward exchanges, and Trip wasn’t letting his food go to waste. Simmons poked at her own food, not feeling very hungry.

“Anything new?” Trip asked once he swallowed.

“Just the Seth thing,” Simmons replied. “I’m trying to find out more.”

Trip nodded. “It’s a good lead.” He sounded a bit too much like he was trying to reassure her. “Skye’s digging into him a bit, so we’ll know soon if he’s a suspect.”

Simmons nodded. “Any more deaths?” she asked, not sure if she wanted to know the answer.

“No,” Trip said, and she sighed in relief. “Hydra seems to be in a bit of a holding pattern.”

They shared the rest of what little information they had, and then Trip answered all of her questions about the team. He passed along greetings from all of them, and Simmons felt her heart clutching a bit in affection. She missed them all so much. She resolved to work harder, find out what she needed to so she could get back where she belonged. Everything here was just too…confusing. It wasn’t real life, and so it felt like the rules of real life didn’t apply somehow. She felt too much like she was someone else, someone different, someone who could just _be_ …something. 

Happy, maybe. 

Later, when Trip was preparing to leave, he stopped next to her door and faced her again. “You know, Simmons,” he started hesitantly. “If it is Seth, it’s…possible he’s working alone.”

“I don’t think that’s very likely,” she responded. Judging by Trip’s expression, her attempt at indifference hadn’t been successful.

“Just…keep it in mind.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He didn’t say anything else, though, just pulled her into a tight hug. Simmons squeezed back, reminded how truly excellent a hug from Trip really was. 

“Be careful,” he instructed.

“Say hi to everyone. Tell them I miss them and I’ll be home soon. Give them all hugs for me, even May. Especially May. And you can pretend I told you to give them kisses when you see Skye.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Trip replied, his tone a perfect copy of her earlier statement. 

Simmons was still chuckling as she closed the door behind him. And then she leaned against it with a sigh. She chose to focus on the fondness she felt for her friends and the happiness she felt at seeing Trip. Thinking about anything else that happened that night just did not seem like a good idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, in fact, the titles of all the chapters and the fic itself _are_ Taylor Swift lyrics.


	5. When You Think Happiness (I Hope You Think That Little Black Dress)

Coulson had a distinct urge to look at his watch, but he didn’t want to be the first one to back down. He wasn’t entirely sure Ward would ever break his silence either, though. And he had things to do. Coulson sighed, looked at his watch, and stood.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked, forcing an overly polite tone. 

Ward, who was sitting on the cot with his back to the wall, turned his head to make eye contact. “Don’t really see the point. I’ll only talk – ”

“To Simmons, yes. I’ve heard. She’s not here.”

“So you’ve said.”

“And yet, which of us in this room is a liar and a fraud?”

Ward stood, walked closer to the barrier, and stopped just inches away. “Where is she then?”

“She’s on an assignment,” Coulson replied. 

Ward made a frustrated, strangely vulnerable expression. “And…did she ask to go on the assignment? Did she want to leave?”

Coulson simply stared back at him. Both Simmons and May had told him to work this angle, but he still felt uncomfortable about it. 

“She’d be back sooner,” he finally said, choosing to ignore the question, “if we had more information. She wouldn’t have to risk her safety to – ”

Ward sniffed derisively, turning away. 

“Or,” Coulson continued, small traces of anger seeping through, “you can stay silent and useless. I’ll trade you for something I can actually benefit from, and you’ll never see her again.”

Ward lay down on the cot, crossing his arms behind his head. “I told her everything I knew about the weapons source.” 

Coulson watched him for a full minute, trying to decide if it was worth attempting to continue the conversation. And then the door above him opened. He turned, looking up expectantly.

“Trip’s back,” Skye informed him. “Apparently, we better hope it’s the student and not the professor or else we’ll destroy the World’s Nerdiest Soap Opera Romance. His words.”

Coulson looked at Ward one last time. At first glance, he hadn’t moved or even registered Skye’s remarks. But upon closer inspection, Coulson could see his jaw was clenched. He’d let that simmer for a while. Maybe Ward would decide he preferred Simmons returning earlier after all.

**

“Hi.”

Fitz looked up quickly, barely made eye contact, and focused back on his computer. “Hi,” he said.

Simmons didn’t really know why she felt almost sick to her stomach. It wasn’t like – it wasn’t like there was anything between them, after all. Maybe a few moments here and there, an effect of the alcohol, how close they were sitting, the late hour. In the light of day, she reminded herself, they were just colleagues. Friendly colleagues, maybe, but – no, not even colleagues. She was undercover, trying to find the evidence that would prove he was providing an evil organization with weapons to kill her _real_ colleagues. She had no reason to feel guilty or awkward. She took a breath, and reached into her satchel.

“You left your shirt and tie behind,” she said firmly, holding them out. 

“Ah, yeah,” he replied, lifting one hand to scratch at his eyebrow but still not looking at her. “I realized that after I…I didn’t want to go back up and…interrupt anything.”

Speaking of interruptions, Donnie walked into the office then. He paused when he noticed the tension, looked back and forth between them, saw the clothes in Simmons’ hands, raised his eyebrows pretty much as high as they could go, and left the room again. Simmons took a breath, leaned forward and placed the items on the chair, and stood straight.

“Thanks,” she said. “For the bookcase.”

Fitz nodded. She practically ran out of the room, hurrying over to her workstation and very deliberately ignoring Donnie’s gaze.

**

Each day was slightly less awkward than the one before, and by the end of the week, they were almost comfortable around each other again. Maybe not as open and easy as they used to be, but Fitz seemed like he was actively trying to get past the…whatever had happened that shouldn’t have. And Simmons firmly reminded herself that her duties would suffer if she allowed this distance to continue. She was supposed to be gathering intel on him, not avoiding any and all conversation.

Not that they were conversing at the moment. Their exchange could more accurately be described as bickering. 

“You’ve said before you can’t fit a large enough dose in; you’ll have to come up with something else.”

“Dendrotoxin is the obvious solution! You’ll just have to modify the design, get me more room.”

“Do you know how many things would have to be changed if – ”

“Oh, _Fitz_! Why did you hire me if you didn’t want me to actually do the job?” Simmons threw her hands up in the air and walked out of the lab. She needed a break before she showed him just how large of a dose was needed to knock a man out. 

As she cleared the door, she heard Donnie chime in, “Yeah, Fitz. Why’d you hire her?” She’d feel happier about him taking her side if he didn’t sound so inexplicably like he was trying not to laugh.

She didn’t hear Fitz’ response, but judging by the fact that Donnie did start laughing then, she suspected it was an empty threat about his dissertation. Simmons growled. She did not find his silly jokes cute.

She didn’t.

**

And then, even though things became more than a bit awkward again, she really appreciated Donnie. It started with a man walking into the lab, and Fitz giving him one look and then collapsing onto the table with a groan.

“I already said no,” he mumbled into the crook of his arms. “You’ve asked me four times, and I’ve said no four times.”

“There will be free food,” the man said. “A full bar.”

Simmons glanced back and forth between them, feeling confused. Fitz’ only response was a shake of his head.

“Wealthy alumni, big sponsors, politicians. The people we unfortunately need to suck up to. Maybe you can finally get that robotics funding you want. The…hobbits.”

“DWARFs! _DWARFs_.” 

“Whatever. Two hours.”

“One.”

“One and a half, and you can skip any two lecture series you want.”

“Deal.”

Simmons waited until the man left again, and then she turned to Fitz. “What on earth?”

Fitz shook his head as he sat up again and picked his work back up. “I have to go to a fundraising _gala_ tomorrow night,” he muttered. 

She blinked. Fundraising. Sponsors. She needed to be there. But how? 

“Well…that sounds like fun, actually,” she said hesitantly, stalling for time as she tried to come up with a plan. 

But Donnie beat her to it. “You should go, Simmons,” he said, and both she and Fitz turned to face him in surprise. “You’ve technically got a plus-one, don’t you?” 

“Um…uh…” Fitz sounded a bit broken. Simmons looked at him, waiting, and then when he didn’t say anything else, she turned back to Donnie. She was afraid there might be a pleading expression on her face.

Donnie shook his head, his own expression oddly exhausted. “Simmons will probably do a much better job representing the lab. And she’ll enjoy dressing up, won’t you Simmons?”

“Dressing…” Fitz’ voice was little more than a whisper. Simmons wasn’t entirely sure he meant to say that out loud. He was looking a bit ill. 

“Oh, yes,” she enthused, picking up Donnie’s very helpful cue. “Do you – I mean, if…if that’s OK with you?”

“Um. Yeah. It’s – it’s fine. These things are…if you want to.”

“Great!” Donnie interrupted their flailing. “You both want to. That’s settled then.” He turned back to his work without another word.

Simmons couldn’t make eye contact with Fitz, and she suspected he felt the same. And then, something finally registered with her.

“Wait - tomorrow night?! I have to go find a dress! I’m going to take the rest of the afternoon off.”

Fitz stood up immediately, somewhat awkwardly seeing her out as she grabbed her purse and left. 

“Call me to arrange details, OK?” she threw back over her shoulder as she ran out of the lab, not even waiting for his response. 

If she hurried, she’d be able to drop off the coded message informing the team of this chance to really find something out _and_ get to the mall well ahead of the evening shoppers.

**

Fitz stared after her, the forgotten prototype in his hand and a stunned expression on his face. He had no idea what had just happened.

“What…” he began.

“You’re welcome,” Donnie said pointedly. 

And maybe Fitz would have been more than happy with the idea of her accompanying him and with Donnie’s interfering if it hadn’t been for…he was her boss! She had a boyfriend! He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly.

“You’re playing a pretty dangerous game,” he warned Donnie. 

Donnie shrugged. “You’re playing a pretty slow game.”

Fitz shook his head, and then walked away, heading into his office before he lost his temper. Or his lunch.

**

But on second thought, he should probably give Donnie a present or something, because the dress Simmons bought was black, just long and loose enough to be professional, and just short and tight enough to melt his brain. She did something with her hair that made it all curly as it fell out of the messy bun-thing or whatever it was called piled on top of her head and she seemed to have on some lipstick that was extra shiny and red. After Fitz had first seen her, he lost a bit of his ability to concentrate. Truthfully, he didn’t actually remember the drive from her flat to the country club.

And she was utterly charming, chatting with everyone she was introduced to, and every once in a while, tilting her head back in this twinkling sort of laugh. Occasionally, he’d hear his name, and he’d try to smile or nod or otherwise indicate he was doing more than reminding himself why this wasn’t a real date. But Donnie was right; she was representing the lab better than he could. He was pretty sure she talked to every person there who had any sort of input into the university’s research programs.

About an hour into it, they were finally standing alone for a few moments. Fitz felt himself relax, partly because there were no strangers in his personal space and partly because he finally remembered that this was the same Simmons he had worked side-by-side with for weeks now. Even if he was wearing a suit and she looked unnaturally beautiful.

“Aren’t you going to ask me to dance?” she said, breaking the silence, and Fitz’ feeling of relaxation immediately disappeared. 

He stared at the dance floor, where a few couples were swaying back and forth. “Um…what?”

“We can’t go the whole night without dancing once,” she argued.

“I – uh, I – ”

She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the dance floor. “If you think I’m bad at social events,” Fitz protested, “multiply that by at least a hundred and that’s how bad I am at _dancing_ at social events.”

And then they were on the floor and she was in his arms and Fitz forgot to breathe for a second. She leaned in even closer and whispered, “I’ll lead.” When she pulled back, she scrunched her nose at him and smiled and Fitz couldn’t look away. He was beginning to realize that that one phrase could really sum up their whole relationship. 

He started shifting his feet then, rocking from side to side. “If I step on your feet, I’m not going to apologize.”

Simmons smirked, pressing on his shoulder lightly to turn them in a circle. “How many of these do you go to, anyway?”

“Too many,” Fitz grumbled.

“And you’re still this bad at them?”

“I usually just stand by the food table and glower in between snacks.”

She shook her head at him, clearly amused. 

“This is the first one I’ve liked,” Fitz admitted before he could stop himself. He felt the blush rising and struggled to think of a way to downplay that.

“So, why don’t you – ” she began.

He shook his head. “You’re always asking about me,” he observed, realizing as soon as he said it how true it was. He had told her so much – about his father, even – and he knew so very little about her in return. “Tell me something about yourself.”

“Oh,” she turned her head away. “I’ve…I’ve led a fairly boring life.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s not a single boring thing about you, Simmons,” he breathed out. 

She looked into his eyes again, and he only then realized they had moved closer to each other while dancing. He didn’t step back though, and she smiled softly and began talking.

**

“Thanks for coming tonight,” Fitz finally said, breaking the silence that had descended over them as he walked her to her flat door. He glanced over at her and tried not to thrill at the sight of her wearing his suit jacket.

“Well, thanks for asking.”

“Technically, I think Donnie asked.”

She laughed, and Fitz felt like he had won something he didn’t even know he was competing for. “Probably,” she agreed. “But thank you anyway.”

She stopped outside her door then, reaching into her purse and pulling out her keys. And then she focused on him again, and he tried to think of something to say, some way to end the night or maybe prolong it. Then he blinked, bringing some sense back into his brain. He couldn’t prolong it. The night had simply been a professional engagement with a colleague. 

A colleague who leaned forward and dropped a quick peck just next to the corner of his lips. Fitz inhaled sharply, forced himself to return the friendly gesture, and then pulled away. They stared at each other for a few moments, her eyes roaming his face and his eyes dropping to her lips. 

Fitz would never be able to say who moved first, or if they both moved at the same time, but the next thing he was consciously aware of was her hands buried into his hair, pulling him close as their mouths joined. Seconds later, her back connected with the door and he leaned his weight into her. He heard, as if from miles away, her keys clattering to the floor. 

He slid one hand up over her shoulder and then skimmed it along her neck until he could take hold of her hair, twist a few of the curls that had so enchanted him earlier around his fingers. His other hand grazed lower until he braced it on her hip. She shifted her stance, a hungry moan escaping her mouth as she spread her legs just enough for his knee to slip between them.

He moved his head to the side, pressing his hand to her cheek to hold her steady as he sucked kisses into her jaw and then just behind her ear. Her breath was loud and harsh, irregular gasps tinged with high-pitched, little squeaks.

“Oh, Fitz,” she managed to say. 

“Simmons,” he murmured in response.

She laughed breathlessly. “Call me Je – ” she choked out before he cut her off, ensnaring her in another, even more passionate kiss. 

When he finally pulled away, he did as she instructed, whispering her first name against her lips. She suddenly froze, stiffening in his arms. 

“Jennifer?” he asked, confused. And when she didn’t respond, he spoke again, more concerned. “Simmons?”

She pushed at his chest and he stepped back immediately, his brow furrowing. She looked positively debauched, her hair hanging down, her lipstick smudged, her skin flushed, and her chest rising and falling as she fought for breath. Honestly, she looked so tempting that he almost took a step towards her again. Probably would have, too, if she didn’t also look like she was about to start crying.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’m so – ” she looked around, clearly distressed, shaking slightly, and then she crouched to pick up the keys that had fallen earlier. “I’m so sorry,” she concluded as she stood again. She quickly turned around, unlocked the door, and rushed inside.

He did take a step forward then, meeting only the door as it closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, all those fancy fundraising galas that faculty are forced to attend, amirite? God, never have any time to do any research in between all the dancing.


	6. We Are Never Ever Ever (Getting Back Together)

After panicking just inside her door, berating herself and wondering why she apparently couldn’t control her libido, let alone her feelings, around bad guys, Simmons eventually formed a fist in determination. She was going to finish this job and get out. She took the next hour or so to write down everything she had learned – admittedly not much – from her conversations that evening. She coded the information so she could drop it as soon as possible the next day and then destroyed her notes. And then she crawled into bed and tried not to think about it anymore. 

By Monday morning, she had a plan. First, she’d go in very early so she could put his suit jacket in his office without actually having to talk to him because _of course_ she still had it. _Of course_ she had felt like a giddy schoolgirl when he offered it to her and placed it around her shoulders and _now_ she had to deal with it on top of everything else. Second, she’d get to work on finding out what Seth was up to, if anything. 

She almost burst into tears when she walked into the office and saw Fitz sitting there. Why, _why_ , did none of her plans ever work?!

He looked fairly miserable too, his forehead resting in one hand as he read through student work. His hair was messed up, like he had been running his hand through it, and he had dark circles under his eyes. When he finally noticed her presence, he jumped to his feet. The pen he was holding clattered to the ground, and he moved his hand in futile little gestures before finally settling it on his hip.

He opened his mouth to say something, and Simmons stepped forward, holding his jacket out. He stared at it for a second and then took it from her.

“It seems returning your clothes is becoming something of a habit,” she said, forcing a laugh. 

After a brief awkward silence, he began to speak, dropping his eyes from her gaze. “Simmons – ”

But she couldn’t hear what he wanted to say. She needed to control this. “It was a mistake,” she blurted, ignoring the way he glanced back up at her sharply. “Just a – you know how it is, fancy clothes, alcohol, dancing. But…but you have a girlfriend and – ”

“I have a what?” Fitz interrupted.

She looked up at him, pausing as she licked her lips. “Your – your girlfriend. The person on the phone. You told her you loved her?”

His brow furrowed for a moment, and then he opened his mouth, inhaling in sudden realization. “That was my _mother_.”

“Oh.” She blinked a couple times. That actually made sense, but what didn’t was the relief she felt coursing through her. 

“But,” he broke through her haze. “But, ah, you have Trip and I’m your boss and there are so many reasons we shouldn’t…”

“A mistake,” she repeated, nodding rapidly. “Won’t happen again.”

He looked down, traced patterns onto his desk with one finger. “Yes, and I apologize. Um, I hope we can still work together.”

“Yes, of course,” Simmons replied, swallowing to prevent the tears that were threatening to spill.

She knew she was going to mess this mission up.

**

They worked in silence for the rest of the morning, and Donnie kept glancing over at both of them. Eventually, Fitz went back into his office, and Donnie followed him in there, closing the door behind him. Simmons stared at the door for a few beats, desperately wanting to run over to eavesdrop. She tried to justify it – they could be talking about Hydra business after all – but she kind of suspected what they were really talking about. Which just made her want to eavesdrop more.

But that didn’t fit with her renewed goals. What _did_ fit was talking with the boy who just entered the room.

“Seth! I don’t think I’ve seen you in at least a week,” she greeted.

“Ugh, I know,” he complained. “I’m teaching so much this semester. I never have time to work on my actual stuff.”

Simmons nodded in commiseration. “The pros and cons of assistantships,” she observed. “Do you want to graduate or do you want to eat?”

He laughed and set his bag down next to his usual spot. He seemed like he was about to start working, and Simmons felt discouraged, sure there was much more she could get out of him. She just had to keep his attention.

“On that note,” Simmons announced, trying to sound casual. “I’m going on a snack run to the Union. Care to join me? My treat.”

“Ah,” Seth looked at his bench, wavering, and Simmons crossed her fingers underneath the counter. “Sure, why not?” 

“Great!” Simmons hopped off her stool. “You can tell me all about your research. I don’t really have any idea what you’re working on.”

She tried to stay calm as she led him out of the lab room. And she definitely did not look back at the closed office door.

**

“Well, that sounds really interesting, Seth. It could have plenty of applications, too,” Simmons observed, trying to hide the fear she felt at some of those potential applications. She had difficulty believing Fitz had approved the project.

“Yeah,” Seth agreed, leading her into the lab and tossing his empty coffee cup into the garbage can near the door. “Theoretically. It’s too power-hungry to actually work right now. But in his spare time, Donnie’s been working on – ”

He broke off as he noticed Donnie and Fitz standing next to each other, staring intently at a computer screen. Simmons watched them for a moment, but they didn’t seem to realize she and Seth had returned. They both had their arms crossed and had identical expressions of concern on their faces.

“What is it?” Simmons asked.

Fitz glanced up, inhaled and looked back at the screen. “Attack on the UN,” he informed them. “By…by S.H.I.E.L.D. Apparently.”

“ _What?_ ” Simmons could barely control her reaction, hurrying over to the screen to watch the news feed.

**

The next few days were insane, and while Simmons knew they were probably too busy to give her an update, she kept checking the various drop sites and waiting for Trip to make an appearance. And she watched Ward’s brother give fear-mongering speeches on TV about hunting down S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. But there was nothing she could do about it, so she trusted them to take care of themselves and focused on her own job, which she knew they were counting on her for.

Now that she had convinced Seth to start talking, he seemed very eager to impress her, giving her more and more details about his freezing machine and his grand ideas for future creations as well. Whenever she’d encourage him to keep speaking, he’d preen a bit more, glancing at Donnie to make sure he saw the attention she was giving him. Donnie didn’t seem to care too much, but he did shoot little confused glances at her and occasionally at Fitz’ office door.

Fitz had spent a lot of time in there since the gala, rather than working by her side. Not that…anyway.

But then it was too much and she had to say something to him. Seth had described how he planned to build a bigger version of the machine, something that wouldn’t just freeze chemical spills and power mobile morgues for mass disasters. Something that could theoretically even affect weather patterns.

She waited until Donnie and Seth left for their classes and then stormed into Fitz’ office. She threw her hands up in exasperation, staring at him expectantly.

He hesitated, looking back at her with a wary expression. “What did I do?”

“This…weather machine!” Fitz nodded once in understanding and then made a dismissive face. “Fitz!” Simmons continued. “You have to realize how dangerous it could be!”

Fitz stood up, shaking his head as he walked over to add some papers to his file cabinet. “It’s never going to work. He can’t even get a functional prototype. I told him that but he’s persistent. Which is fine for a Master’s project; negative results are results. To be honest, Seth doesn’t have the skill to pull it off. Don’t get me wrong – he’s intelligent, but…”

“Quinn Worldwide seems to think he’s good.”

“Seth’s father works for Quinn Worldwide,” Fitz explained, sitting back down. “Very low level, but high enough to get a few perks. He actually put the gun proposal on the right desk so… They offered far more than the proposed budget, otherwise I would have never gone with them.”

Simmons blinked. “You wouldn’t?”

“Are you kidding? Have you seen some of the environmental devastation they’re responsible for? But…beggars can’t be choosers.”

Simmons felt a bit like her world was spinning off its axis. She sunk into the guest chair, unable to take her eyes off him. “So, you’re, uh…you…you aren’t…”

Fitz tilted his head at her, clearly confused by her stammering. And then he caught sight of the clock on the wall behind her.

“Oh cr – I have to go. Class.”

He stood, moving quickly as he gathered up his things for class. Simmons remained rather immobile, still processing. When he reached the door of his office, he turned back around.

“Seriously, Simmons, don’t worry. Seth is building a very big paperweight.”

He walked out then, and Simmons was left behind. She placed her hand on the edge of the chair next to her thigh, locking her elbow to brace herself. Her other hand lifted to her mouth, stifling the laugh-sob that was threatening to spill out. Her lips spread into a wide smile even as she blinked back tears, and her worries about Seth’s machine were temporarily forgotten.

**

She had finally regained her equilibrium and returned to working on the gun with renewed determination. A non-lethal weapon like this would be very useful to S.H.I.E.L.D. and other law enforcement agencies. It really was a brilliant idea, and she could probably figure out how to get a strong enough dose for the design. Yes, if she just – and then she – yes, like that. Simmons nodded to herself as she looked at the assembled prototype. She’d tell Fitz it was ready to test when he got back from class.

But Donnie and Seth came back first, and they were far too excited about an epiphany Donnie had reached (“It was something Fitz said the other day, actually, something about oxygen.”), and they wanted to immediately test it. Donnie hurried over to his desk, pulling something out of a drawer and immediately bending over it to make adjustments.

“Test what?” Simmons asked Seth, a little confused by their rambling.

“The machine! Donnie’s been working on – “

“A battery,” Donnie continued, holding up the item he had apparently finished modifying. “It can hold an entire terawatt, which is more than enough to power the prototype.”

“Forget the prototype,” Seth argued. “I’ve got the big one in the back of my truck.”

“What?!” Simmons and Donnie exclaimed simultaneously. 

“Let’s test it! Come with us, Simmons!” Seth enthused, leading the way.

“Um…OK,” Simmons replied, grabbing her coat as she followed them out of the room and desperately trying to think of a way to stop them. Could they have really done it?

But it turned out they had, and within minutes of turning the machine on, a large storm was brewing over the parking lot. She screamed at them to turn it off to no avail; Donnie was freaking out equally loudly and Seth was looking up at the sky, his arms spread wide as he laughed. Simmons finally grabbed Donnie by the shoulder, getting his attention and forcing him to think how they could reverse the process. They managed to stop it, but at the same time, a bolt of lightning struck the ground near Seth, throwing him several feet.

Donnie yelled his name, jumping down from the truck and racing to him, Simmons mere steps behind him. She fell to her knees and felt for a pulse, sighing in relief when she picked up a slow but definitely steady heartbeat. She pulled out her phone, preparing to call 911, and she nearly dropped it when it rang in her hands instead.

On the screen was a number that she hadn’t really ever expected to see – the emergency number that indicated her cover must be dropped immediately. 

“Call 911,” she instructed Donnie, standing and stepping away as she answered the call. “This is Simmons.”

“Jemma!” Skye shouted. “Are you OK?”

“Fine, fine. We’ve stopped the machine. The storm is already – ”

“What storm? Never mind. Look, the other day, Coulson traded Ward to his brother for dropping the vendetta against S.H.I.E.L.D. but Ward escaped during the transfer. We figured he was going to lie low, but last night he left us a little gift. Ian Quinn, tied up with a note pinned to his shirt that said ‘For Jemma.’”

“What?” Simmons asked, feeling her stomach drop and her pulse start to pound. 

“Bobbi got Quinn to talk. Ward is _not_ lying low. Quinn confirmed that he already told him where Hydra’s weapons were coming from. It _is_ Seth, who told Quinn all about the new postdoc in his lab and the gun they would finish soon, if his boss stopped drooling over her long enough.”

“What?” Simmons repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. She wasn’t entirely following what Skye was saying, but she knew it was bad.

“Simmons, listen to me! Ward knows – he knows where you are, he knows about Fitz, he knows about everything. We’re about five minutes out, but he might already be there!”

Simmons hung up the phone and ran, barely registering Donnie calling out after her. “Stay here with Seth,” she shouted back.

**

When she reached the building, it quickly became clear that Ward _was_ there. People were streaming out the doors, yelling about a madman. Simmons pushed her way through the crowd, breaking into the fastest run she had ever managed once she reached the empty hall. She skidded to a stop, catching herself on the lab door and pulling herself through it. Furniture was toppled, equipment lying broken on the ground, and in the corner, Ward knelt over Fitz, choking him as Fitz kicked and thrashed, struggling for his life. Simmons moved quickly, jumping over some debris until she reached her own, relatively undisturbed workstation. She grabbed the gun, turned on Ward, and fired without thinking, the muscle memory of so much training guiding her actions.

To her relief, he actually fell back, apparently unconscious.

Fitz, coughing, pushed himself up and looked over at her in surprise. 

“I told you it had to be dendrotoxin,” she observed in a rather hysterical tone. And then she raced over to Fitz, reaching one hand up to hover near his face. “Are you – ”

“He’s – ” Fitz warned, his voice giving out as his damaged throat protested. He reached out to pull her away, but Simmons spun instead, bringing the gun back up. Ward was stirring, regaining consciousness, and she was about to shoot him again when she remembered only the one cartridge had been in there. She leaned forward instead, twirling the gun so the butt was facing the opposite direction and raising it high. She brought it sharply down on the back of his head, and Ward collapsed again.

And then she dropped the gun, falling back to the floor herself. “We still have to figure out the dose, though.”

Moments later, she turned to face Fitz again, and he was staring back at her in utter confusion and more than a small amount of admiration. Simmons opened her mouth, but no sound came out. As she struggled for an explanation, there was a commotion at the door and she looked up to see Skye, May and Bobbi run in. She grinned at them in welcome, a rather frantic laugh escaping her.

“What the hell?” Fitz’ voice was little more than a harsh whisper.


	7. Band-Aids Don’t Fix Bullet Holes

Simmons didn’t have a chance to even begin to explain before more people ran into the room – Donnie, who took one distraught look around and then ran to Fitz’ side, and moments later, Coulson, who began to bark directions to the rest of the team. Bobbi and May were in charge of hauling Ward out to the plane and locking him up in the interrogation room with a still-unconscious Seth. Skye needed to question Donnie, and he would talk to Fitz himself. 

Simmons watched Fitz get shakily to his feet, her arms hovering uselessly to the side after he refused her and Donnie’s help. He followed Coulson into the office, still looking completely lost. She tried to ignore the panicked beating of her heart, tried not to feel upset that she wasn’t the one to talk to him, to make him understand. To apologize for thinking he could ever – 

She swallowed, tearing her eyes away from them and focusing on the destroyed lab room. She had nothing else to do, no other responsibilities, so she just set to cleaning up as best she could.

**

“How are you feeling, Dr. Fitz?” the man asked, gesturing for Fitz to take a seat at his own desk. And he was still disoriented enough to just follow the instructions. “Do you need medical attention?”

“No,” Fitz replied, immediately wincing at the flare of pain. He reached out and grabbed the travel mug he had just set down with the rest of his things when – when the man had suddenly appeared behind him and – “No. I think I’ll be fine. What…what is going on? Who are you?”

He watched the man, carefully swallowing a sip as he waited for an answer. After a moment, during which he seemed to be getting his thoughts together, the man finally responded, “I’m Phil Coulson, the director of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

And now, Fitz was really confused. He shook his head. “No, S.H.I.E.L.D – ”

“Definitely still exists,” Coulson interrupted. “And no, we didn’t attack the UN. That was Hydra, who like setting other people up. People like ambitious graduate students and too-trusting professors.”

Fitz narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Eight S.H.I.E.L.D. agents have been decapitated in the last five months,” Coulson said, painfully direct, and Fitz inhaled sharply. He felt rather sick to his stomach as he waited for the rest of the explanation. “With a weapon that contains a very distinctive type of wire – ”

“No,” Fitz protested, pushing away from the desk and immediately bending over. He breathed in and out several times until he was sure he wasn’t going to vomit. “No, that’s – it’s – ”

“This isn’t public information, but Quinn Worldwide actually has multiple dealings with Hydra.”

Fitz sat back up, blinking rapidly, resting his elbows on the desktop and clasping his hands in front of his mouth as he asked, “Seth?”

Coulson nodded once. “He’s apparently been passing them your designs for months now.”

Fitz shook his head, still not accepting. “My designs are _non-lethal_.”

“You’ve said yourself that anything in the wrong hands has the potential to be something else.”

“When – how – ”

“When you were interviewing your postdoc,” Coulson clarified.

“Simmons?” Fitz asked, barely above a whisper. His confusion just kept growing. 

“She will no doubt corroborate my other source who assures me you and Donnie are innocent in the matter, so we’ll leave it at that.” And then Coulson stood. “Unfortunately, it isn’t wise for us to stay here much longer, not while we have Seth and Ward relatively uncontained.”

“Ward, that’s his – why did he – is he Hydra? What did he want with me?”

Coulson tilted his head, a small, incongruous smile on his face. “Oh, that was nothing as simple as presumed-destroyed evil organizations back to wreak havoc on our entire world. _That_ had to do with matters of the heart.”

He turned towards the office door then, and Fitz stood. “I still don’t understand.”

Coulson faced him again. “I know, but that’s not my story to tell. I hope you’ll get to hear it someday, but as I said, it can’t be right now. In time, once you’ve gotten everything settled, I’d like to talk to you again, though. I think S.H.I.E.L.D. missed out on something special when you turned down the Academy spot.”

And then he walked out. Fitz followed him, stopping just at the door. He spotted Donnie first, and the young woman on Coulson’s team who was talking to him quietly, a comforting arm around his shoulder. He sought out Simmons then; she was in the other corner, trying to pick up the mess from his fight (if one could call it that) with the man. Ward. 

“We need to go,” Coulson announced. “Simmons, you too.”

She startled at his voice, nearly dropping the damaged equipment she held, and then she immediately looked over to Fitz. Her expression was…she seemed…

Something slotted into place in Fitz’ mind then, just one damn thing finally making sense. Coulson knowing what they had talked about in the interview, identifying her as a source that would vouch for him. Every time she had asked him about himself or his work; how she had wanted to go to the gala and meet sponsors; the way her attentions had recently, unexpectedly and – to be honest – quite hurtfully seemed to shift towards Seth; and before that, all the private, personal moments when it seemed like she was as drawn to him as he was to her but she really was just…it was all fake. She had thought the worst of him and was trying to catch him in a lie. 

He lowered his eyes and turned around, bracing his hands on his lower back as he struggled to breathe. He blinked rapidly, feeling like everything was falling apart. The destruction in the lab seemed almost fitting, somehow, and yet entirely inconsequential compared to the damage to his…to his heart.

He wasn’t completely aware of everything happening around him at that point, but he did hear the sound of feet rushing out of the room. And then, over where Donnie was sitting, the other woman called out. 

“Simmons? Jemma!”

She ran out too, and Fitz squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn’t even known her real name.

**

Simmons didn’t say anything to Skye when she caught up with her several feet outside the lab room. She just continued walking, nearly running, until she got to the plane. She didn’t say anything to the others either, as she hurried past them.

She tried to convince herself there was no reason to be upset. She should be happy! The mission was over, more or less successfully. She had helped find the person responsible for the weapons; she had prevented Ward from killing more people; she had even stopped Seth before he could cause serious destruction. Just like she had only recently decided was absolutely necessary, she had finished her job and she was getting out, getting back to her real life. There was no – no reason to be upset.

Simmons just kept moving, ignoring various attempts to talk to her, despite knowing she’d have to debrief if nothing else. But she’d do it later. For the moment, she rushed past what used to be her and Callie’s lab, up the stairs, past the common areas, and into the cockpit. She didn’t knock or wait for an invitation, just entered the small area and stared at Trip until he got the message and vacated the co-pilot’s seat. And then she sat next to May, relieved that there was one space on the entire plane where no one would force her to talk. May glanced at her, then faced forward again, hitting several buttons as she prepared to take off.

It wasn’t until they were minutes away from landing at the Playground that Simmons finally broke her silence. She couldn’t bring herself to look at May, and her voice was quiet, barely audible over the sounds of the engine, but she knew May heard her and understood. 

“For the record, I didn’t figure out how to do it either.”

**

She stood in between Bobbi and Skye as they waited for the ramp to lower. Coulson and Hunter stood off to one side, holding onto Seth. May and Trip joined them, flanking a shackled Ward, and she wasn’t surprised when Bobbi and Skye both moved to block her from his view. But she placed her hands on their arms, lightly pushing them back to where they had been. She looked Ward in the eyes, fearless and unflinching.

“Jemma,” he began, fixing his puppy dog eyes on her, and she wondered how she ever fell for that expression.

“Next time, it will be a real gun,” she informed him, her voice steady and cold. 

She walked down the ramp without a backwards glance.

**

The next morning, Simmons sat at the table in the common room, her feet hooked around the edge of the chair and her arms wrapped around her knees. She stared rather forlornly at the cup of tea on the table in front of her, not feeling particularly enthusiastic about drinking it.

“Hey girl,” Trip greeted as he walked into the room. He bent down to give her a quick one-armed hug. “It’s good to have you home, you know.”

She looked up at him and forced a smile. “I missed you guys, too.”

“Yeah, I can totally tell how happy you are to be back.”

Simmons shrugged, refusing to take the conversational bait. Trip walked over to the counter to pour himself a coffee. 

“Bobbi and I are going to the apartment today to get your clothes and personal things. We’ll just ditch the furniture at a thrift shop or something, obviously.” 

“OK, thanks,” Simmons replied. Then she felt a brief moment of panic and without even consciously being aware of what she was asking, she added, “No, wait! There’s a – there’s a bookcase in the bedroom. Can you bring it back?”

“Sure,” Trip agreed lightly, then paused to take a rather expressive sip of his coffee. She knew that he was well aware of the significance of the bookcase, and so she stood before he could comment further.

“Thanks.”

“Coulson wants to see you,” he called out after her. 

“I know,” she replied.

**

“And that’s everything?”

Simmons thought for a moment. She had left a few specific details out of her report to Coulson, but… “Everything that has to do with the case.”

His face suggested he was more than aware of what she wasn’t telling him. “Fair enough,” he said. He closed the file folder, picked it up and tapped the bottom against the desktop to straighten the contents. Then he placed it aside and folded his hands in front of himself. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, sir,” Simmons replied quickly. Too quickly, she could tell from the look he sent her, so she admitted, “It feels strange to be back. I know it will probably take a bit of time to shift gears, but I’m just trying to remember how to…be me again. And maybe to figure out how I fit with the team after being gone for so long.”

“You’ll always have a place here, Simmons. Never forget that.” She nodded at the unnecessary reminder, but truthfully his statement and her response felt just a touch too rote, too expected. 

“The question is if you still want it,” he added a few beats later.

She glanced up at him, her eyes wide in shock.

“You’re right, it will take some time. But right now, you seem…absent.”

Simmons swallowed, then licked her lips. She took a deep breath, turning her head to the side, squinting slightly as she looked at nothing in particular. “There’s a part of me – a relatively large part, actually – that wanted to stay there, if I’m honest. Because there I was simply a scientist, a scholar, an inventor. I spent every day with someone – ” she shook her head quickly “ – with people, I mean, who understood my language and shared my joy at discovering and creating new things. Who felt the same drive that made me join S.H.I.E.L.D. in the first place before I got - before _it_ got so… _corrupted_. And at times, I could forget about everything that happened. But the problem was, every time I forgot, I had to force myself to remember again. I had to remind myself that there were people out there who wanted to kill me and my friends. And I had to remind myself about the dangers of trusting people and – and feeling things for them. When I remembered, it would hurt as much as it did the first time.”

Simmons paused, trying to control her shaky breathing. She glanced at Coulson, who seemed content to wait for her. She exhaled and inhaled again slowly. “But…it also reinforced my belief that this _is_ where I belong. I may not feel _right_ here at the moment, but I didn’t fit in that world either, not after everything I’ve seen and been through. I just…I just feel like now I’m going to always wonder about the path I could have taken, if I hadn’t joined S.H.I.E.L.D., or even if I hadn’t come back with you. In some universe, I really could have been ha-happy there, but we don’t get to have everything in life, do we?”

“No, we don’t,” Coulson confirmed, his voice soft but serious. “This job requires sacrifice. It requires us to live our lives in certain ways, and right now, with Hydra, that has never been more the case.”

Simmons nodded. “I know, sir.”

“But,” Coulson continued, and Simmons looked up at him. “We can make the best of what we have with our little family. Give us time, Simmons. We’ll find a way to make you feel whole again. And happy too, I hope.”

Simmons wasn’t as optimistic about that, and she certainly didn’t fully understand the secret little smile he gave her, but she appreciated the sentiment anyway.

**

Simmons spent the rest of the day trying to make sense of the state of the lab, which wasn’t easy. She hadn’t had time to train anyone to run it before she left, and it was clear that they never did figure out how to function without any leadership. Simmons eventually gave up, too exhausted to deal with the confusion.

Instead, she collapsed on her bed and stared up at the ceiling. She thought about just going to bed, but felt that, at 8:00, it was far too early and probably would give people more reasons to worry about her mental health. And before she could decide she didn’t really care about that and hide under the covers anyway, Bobbi and Skye entered with a perfunctory knock and then kicked the door closed behind them. 

Simmons sat up and moved to the center of the bed just in time for them to sit down on either side of her. Nearly simultaneously, they all scooched back far enough to lean against the wall and crossed their legs. Bobbi handed her a spoon and Skye handed her the ice cream carton and Simmons sighed before she dug in. In many ways, she had been waiting for this; she felt like she maybe was finally ready for this version of a debriefing.

“So, it turns out he liked me,” she began, trying to find a little bit of humor in the situation. She ate another spoonful of ice cream before adding, “I liked him too. I tried not to but…”

“Kind of hard to listen to your brain in these matters,” Bobbi observed, nodding sagely.

“And she’d know,” Skye pointed out. “Because guess who had sex with the ex _again_ while you were gone.”

“This is _not_ about me,” Bobbi interjected. “Or you and Trip, I might add.”

Simmons actually smiled at her friends’ antics, leaning slightly to nudge Skye with her shoulder. “I’ll be asking about that later, don’t worry.”

“Just tell me one thing, Simmons,” Skye requested, her voice too determinedly serious to be actually sincere. “Did you flirt with him? Because I would have given anything to see that.”

“Shut _up_.” She was silent for a moment, thinking even as Bobbi and Skye snickered. “That’s – actually, that’s the funny thing about it all,” she said. “I mean, you know that I’ve dated guys, but I never really knew how to _talk_ to them, not guys I liked like that. I didn’t really start getting even reasonably comfortable with it until… I used to think that it would have been different if I had had even just _one_ really close male friend, so guys wouldn’t have seemed so intimidating. But I didn’t have any really close friends at all until I met you so…”

Simmons paused, took a breath, and continued, “Anyway, that’s what made this so different. I have never, I mean _never_ , found it as easy to talk to someone as I did with him. Yeah, there were awkward moments, oh God, were there awkward moments, but…he kind of became one of my best friends.”

Skye reached out and squeezed Simmons’ hand. “Not better than us, right?”

“No,” Simmons swore, turning her head to give Skye a quick grin. “Or at least…different than you because…”

“Because what?” Bobbi prompted, a sly tone hinting she knew what Simmons meant.

“Because he’s a really good kisser,” Simmons confessed, fighting a grin as she remembered. “And his _hands_ are so – ” 

“ _Simmons!_ ” Skye mock-scolded.

But the levity couldn’t be maintained, and only moments later, Simmons felt her shoulders slump. “Not that it matters anymore,” she pointed out sadly. 

The three of them were silent for a long beat. And then they all leaned forward for another spoonful of ice cream.

“You could call him,” Skye suggested. 

Simmons shook her head. Then she handed the carton to Bobbi and clumsily shifted around on the bed until she was lying on her side in the small space between the other two. Her head rested in Skye’s lap and her feet were stretched across Bobbi’s. Skye reached a hand down and carded her fingers through her hair.

“You didn’t see his reaction,” Simmons explained, her voice breaking. “He doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

And then she couldn’t hold back anymore. For the first time in months, she allowed herself to cry. For all the things Ward had taken from her and nearly destroyed in her or – a more devastating thought – revealed in her, for Callie and the life she missed out on, for the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the (what still occasionally felt wasted) years she had devoted to the agency, for Donnie, even for Seth.

For Fitz and all the potential they could have had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s apparently my goal in life to have Simmons, Bobbi and Skye share a carton of ice cream in every fic I ever write. Also, at one point early in the writing process, I did seriously consider having Donnie go dark side, but I feel he’s more victim than villain in canon and even more so here. He’s had years of mentoring, not just one conversation, with Fitz, so I just don’t see him going that route. Plus, he’s captain of the ship!


	8. Because the Last Time You Saw Me (Is Still Burned in the Back of Your Mind)

A week later, the lab room was finally cleaned and organized, much of the broken equipment replaced and all the insurance forms filled out. The various projects were on track again, with the exception of the night-night gun. That prototype was very deliberately packed away. On the surface, no one would have been able to tell anything had happened.

Two weeks later, Donnie successfully defended his dissertation. The work was impressive enough on its own, but the fact that he had been able to mentally keep it together after everything was equally impressive. Fitz couldn’t say as much about himself, and he was secretly, annoyingly grateful that even after he had finished, Donnie still came in every day. Sometimes he worked on smaller, neglected projects, and sometimes he just sat at his usual bench and read or clicked around on the internet. They never said anything to each other, but when he was there, it felt less like the walls were closing in around Fitz. 

Three weeks later, Fitz got drunker than he’d ever been since the day his father died. And the next morning, hungover as hell, he drove over to Simmons’ flat. He parked outside and stared up at the window and felt miserable. He wondered if he had meant anything to her at all, if she thought about him even a fraction as much as he thought about her, or if she had filed him away with the rest of the paperwork and moved onto her next job.

Four weeks later, the semester was over and the campus blissfully empty. Two days into winter break, Donnie broke his silence.

“You could just call her,” he stated suddenly, as he walked into Fitz’ office and dropped into the guest chair.

“Call who?”

Donnie didn’t dignify that with a response. Fitz sighed. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because – because I don’t actually know anything about her, including whether the phone number I have still works. And she probably doesn’t even want me to.”

Donnie shrugged and stood up again. “I don’t think she was all that great of a liar, actually. On the surface, maybe, but not about the important things,” he said. 

Five weeks later, Fitz was sitting alone in his office late one night. He was supposed to be working on modifying and preparing lecture material for the next semester, but he couldn’t quite get enthusiastic about that. Instead, he had pulled an old letter out of the drawer and had been staring at it for at least the previous half hour. 

The letter that had welcomed him to the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy, Sci-Tech Division. He had been so excited, so hopeful that all his skills could be used for something worthwhile. He had always regretted not being able to actually go. And while he enjoyed his life now, or at least he had before…well, _before_ , he still wondered what exactly he was actually accomplishing. If his designs were going to be used in epic, terrifying battles between good and evil, he would like to at least play an active role in deciding which side they went to. 

And it was at that moment that he nearly fell out of his chair in surprise.

“For the love of – I’m not really comfortable with people sneaking up on me in this office,” he said, resting one hand against his chest above his wildly beating heart.

Coulson calmly sat down in the guest chair. “Dr. Fitz,” he began. “I’m here to talk to you about…an opportunity.”

**

“Simmons, please stay a moment.”

At Coulson’s request, Simmons glanced at Skye curiously to see if she knew what it was about. Skye shrugged and followed the others out of the room. Simmons breathed in, feeling a bit nervous, and then she folded her hands in front of her. She looked up at Coulson with a forced expression of polite expectation.

“Sir?”

“Simmons, I know you’ve been struggling – ” Simmons opened her mouth, ready to protest. She really didn’t want to have this conversation with him again. Or anyone. Ever. It had been just about two months, and she was finally starting to feel sort of normal again. No need to dredge it all up. “ – to run the lab by yourself, especially on projects that would have been Callie’s domain.”

Simmons blinked, surprised by the topic. “Oh, well, yes, sir. That’s true. I’m not an expert in some of the things that come into the lab, but I assure you I’m trying my best. If you have any concerns or complaints – ”

“You’re not understanding me, Simmons. I’m not upset with you. You’re doing fantastic work, as you always have. But I don’t expect you to be an expert in all of it, or to have to do everything by yourself. I decided it was time to find someone to take Callie’s job.”

“Oh!” Simmons hesitated, trying to remind herself that replacing an employee doesn’t mean forgetting a friend. “Well, yes. I suppose. Any number of people from the Academy would be good choices. I can make you a list, if you’d like.”

“Nope, I’ve already found someone,” Coulson announced rather cheerfully. “Two people, actually. One will start tomorrow and the other in a few weeks.” He stood up and walked to the door of the conference room. Simmons twisted in her seat, staring after him in bewilderment.

“Sir?”

“I’m sure you’ll work well with the new head of the tech division,” he added, smiling back at her. “You already have experience collaborating with him, after all.”

With that, he left the room. Simmons blinked a couple times, breathing heavily as she tried to deny the meaning of his words. It couldn’t – he couldn’t possibly have been talking about – 

“Oh God,” she whispered.

**

“Why are you here?”

“Ah,” Fitz hesitated. “I – I thought I could do some good, make up for what happened.”

A brief pause. “I need you to give that to me again.”

Fitz swallowed. “I thought I could do some good. And I always wanted to work for S.H.I.E.L.D.”

The man in front of him, Koenig, stared at his screen some more, and then he reached below the table. Seconds later, he was pointing a gun at Fitz.

“Holy – !” Fitz jumped in the chair, trying to calculate how long it would take to unhook all the straps and wires and dodge out of the way. Definitely longer than it would take for the bullet to reach him.

“Dr. Fitz, why are you _really_ here?

“Simmons!” he gasped out. Then he cleared his throat and repeated it more firmly. 

Koenig looked at the results again, then uncocked the gun. Fitz sighed in relief. “OK then,” Koenig said cheerfully. “Let’s go get you a lanyard.”

**

Simmons had been unable to concentrate that entire morning. She knew he was in the building; it almost seemed like she could _feel_ his presence. He was supposed to meet with Coulson and then go through the orientation and then – and then.

She inhaled deeply, looking at her hands clasped in her lap. She hadn’t even tried to pretend to work on anything for the last ten minutes. What if – what if he – 

She closed her eyes and shook her head, reminding herself of the decision she had made the night before. After everything, after all the ways she had hurt him and lied to him, the ways she had manipulated and used him and treated him just as badly as… The best thing, the _only_ thing she could do was let him decide what he wanted from her or with her. Let him set the tone of their relationship moving forward. She wouldn’t say anything about how she felt or try to justify her actions; she would just wait for him to show her what, if anything, he wanted, and in the meantime, be the professional colleague she always should have been.

She heard the voices before she saw them, but only just – seconds later, she spotted Skye and Fitz through the lab windows. Skye was chatting brightly, doing her Welcome Wagon thing, but Fitz looked a bit overwhelmed. Simmons breathed in, fighting the urge to run over, throw herself into his arms and beg forgiveness. But she didn’t. She simply stood, rubbed her palms against her thighs, and waited for them to enter.

Skye pulled open the door. “And here’s the lab. Simmons will take over the tour from here.” Fitz had stopped walking and glanced up sharply at the mention of her name. The only indication he gave that he was still actually present and aware was bringing his hands up to waist-height and loosely wringing them together. They stared at each other for what felt like hours. And then, apparently, Skye gave him a little push because he stumbled the rest of the way into the lab. “Nice officially meeting you, Fitz,” she called out before letting the door close behind her. 

Simmons tore her eyes away from Fitz just long enough to see Skye give her a supportive two-thumbs-up through the window and then hurry down the hall. She looked at Fitz again.

**

The only thing that Fitz could think was that she was somehow more beautiful than he remembered. And that he was incredibly grateful that the orientation answers were supposed to be kept confidential. At the same time, they were all elite special agents and would probably figure out within minutes, if they didn’t already know, that she was at least one of the main reasons he accepted the job.

But he had already decided that he wasn’t going to _tell_ her that. He wasn’t going to say anything at all. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, and he didn’t want to make a fool out of himself again. His feelings for her were painfully obvious, and there was nothing he could do about that, but he wasn’t going to hold her to anything she said or did earlier when she had just been doing her job. He’d let her know, somehow, that there were no hard feelings, that he understood. And maybe he’d eventually find a way to live with the feelings he did have. 

“Hi,” she finally said, quiet but still loud enough to cut through the silent tension filling the space between them. 

He nodded once and quirked the corners of his lips up in a little smile, but didn’t respond otherwise. He didn’t really trust his voice at the moment. Then she shook her head just barely, stepped forward and held out her hand. Confused, Fitz took it, feeling the warm, smooth skin of her palm as they shook hands.

“I’m Jemma Simmons,” she introduced herself with a wry sort of smile. Her voice was louder but still shaky. “I work for S.H.I.E.L.D.”

He coughed to stall for time and to get rid of the rough emotion threatening to choke him. “Uh, Leo Fitz,” he finally said. “I guess I do too.”

They both smiled then, still holding each other’s eyes and – Fitz noticed in embarrassment – hands. He quickly let go and stepped back. “Call me Fitz,” he added. 

“Simmons. Let me – let me show you around the lab.”

**

“You must be Fitz.”

Fitz looked up from the transmitter he was fixing. And then up some more. The man standing in the door to the lab was possibly the largest person he’d ever seen.

“Yes,” Fitz finally answered. 

“I’m Mack,” he introduced himself, and then reached over for the handle of the platform cart next to him. Stacked on it were several large boxes, and Fitz hopped off his stool immediately.

“Oh, thank God,” he sighed. He had spent the last two days fixing random field equipment. It was hardly taxing him. But now his things had arrived, as well as some new supplies he had requested. He could really get to work. 

“Where do you want it?” Mack asked. 

“Ah,” Fitz stalled, rotating as he looked around. “I guess – well, I’m not sure where Simmons – ”

“Where Simmons what?” 

Fitz turned in surprise as she walked into the room. He took an involuntary step back and awkwardly crossed his arms over his chest. “Where you, um, want me to put my things.”

“Oh, wherever!” she responded, her tone high-pitched and overly polite.

“Well, I don’t want to be in your way.”

“Oh, no. No, this is your lab too, so – ”

“I’ll just put it over here then,” Mack interrupted, with a tilt of his head indicating the corner nearest Fitz’ bench. 

“Sure. Thanks Mack!” Simmons replied quickly, even as Fitz muttered, “That’s fine.”

Fitz and Simmons stared at each other briefly before turning away and stepping over to their own benches. Fitz heard Mack sigh and mumble something inaudible as he unloaded the boxes.

**

Simmons was putting all her concentration into the tea she was making. This was going to be the best-made cup of tea ever, probably. Mostly because it was easier to focus on that than to handle the man sitting at the table, reading the news on a tablet, just steps away from her. It was still so uncomfortable to be alone with him, with everything that remained unspoken and unexplained. But she remained firm in her conviction; she wouldn’t say anything about…their _past_ until he did.

He cleared his throat, and Simmons almost dropped the pot. She waited for a moment, but he didn’t speak, so she continued pouring. She wondered if she should ask him if he wanted some, if that would be too weird, or if it would be weird _not_ to. Before she could decide, though, someone else entered the room.

“Hey!”

Simmons half-turned, grinning widely. Trip and Bobbi had been gone on a mission for several days and were apparently finally back. “Trip!”

He stepped up next to her, nudging a greeting against her shoulder before reaching up to get a glass from the cupboard. He filled it with water from the sink and then turned around to lean against the counter. It was then that he noticed Fitz.

“Oh, hey. Heard you joined our team.”

Fitz nodded, still focused on his tablet, his arms crossed with his elbows rather stiffly resting on the tabletop. His eyes darted up to Trip and Simmons and then he looked down again. “Yep.”

No one said anything. The only sound in the room was the second hand of the clock ticking away. And then Fitz stood abruptly.

“Well, I’m off to the lab.”

Trip waited just long enough for him to leave the room, and then he faced Simmons again. She turned back to her tea. 

“So…how’s that going?” Trip asked.

She shrugged, trying to come across casually indifferent. “Fine.”

Trip didn’t seem like he believed her.


	9. This Is Looking like a Contest (Of Who Can Act like They Care Less)

“Fitz, Simmons, any reports from the lab?”

Fitz glanced around the room, feeling somewhat confused. Everyone else sitting at the table looked back at him expectantly. He opened his mouth, but couldn’t find any words. And then he glanced at Simmons. Thankfully, she seemed equally thrown.

“I’m sorry, sir?” she attempted to clarify. “Which – which one of us are you asking?”

Coulson shrugged. “Either one. Both.”

Another long pause. Finally, Fitz began talking, “The first DWARF prototype is almost ready to test. Simmons rightfully suggested – ” and simultaneously, Simmons spoke up with “Sneezy – the, ah, the DWARF, that is, well, Fitz and I believe – ”

They broke off again, and Fitz tried not to blush as he tilted his head to indicate Simmons should take over the report. But she was having none of it, holding her hand out in a gesture encouraging him to talk. Out of the corner of his eye, Fitz saw Coulson look at his watch.

“Almost ready to test, OK. Anyone else have anything?”

No one did, and Coulson dismissed the meeting. Fitz stood, gathering his belongings and avoiding Skye’s incredibly amused expression across the table from him. He also avoided Mack and Hunter’s attempt to call him over for a conversation. He had been there for about two weeks at that point, and while he was trying to make friends, he still felt a bit too self-conscious. The problem was they all seemed to know so much about him already, and he didn’t know how to forget that long enough to get on an equal footing with them. So, instead, he hurried out of the conference room and headed back towards the lab.

**

Simmons brushed her hair off her face as she left the conference room. She could see Fitz was already far in front of her. That was probably for the best, because she was still a little embarrassed about their total inability to give a simple progress report. They had finally started to work in sync together in the lab – the DWARF really _was_ nearly finished – so it felt doubly strange that they weren’t able to talk about their work to other people without falling to pieces. Really, she thought, the problem was Coulson calling both of them out like that, saying their names like they were one unit or something. Like they just belonged together.

Skye and Bobbi suddenly appeared on either side of her and linked their arms through hers. Simmons smiled, somewhat nervously.

“Ah, hello. What’s going on?”

“Tell me about the DWARF,” Skye prompted. 

“Oh, Sneezy? The prototype is still very primitive, but it really is the most ingenious little design. Very few people could have come up with something like that, let alone seven of them. Fitz wanted to work through this one first because he could never quite envision it properly. It detects biochemical signatures, you see, so I think I’ve been able to provide some real help. At least he says – ”

“Oh my God,” Skye interrupted. “Stop.”

Simmons furrowed her brow briefly. “What?”

“ _When_ are you two going to rip each other’s clothes off, already?” Skye asked, and the only response Simmons could give was a splutter.

“Seriously,” Bobbi concurred. “I’m not sure how many more meetings like that I can sit through.”

Simmons shook her head, trying to calm her heartbeat. “Don’t be silly. Yes, at one point, I thought there might – but he’s never said – that is, he’s made it more than clear that he’s not – and I – we’re finally starting to establish a solid professional relationship now, so please don’t – ”

“Ugh,” Skye groaned, tilting her head back and staring at the ceiling. “For two geniuses, you’re so dumb.”

**

Fitz tried to be as stealthy as possible as he snuck past Mack and Hunter playing video games. But he was hardly a secret agent, and they greeted him almost immediately. He stopped, faced them, and put his hands in his pockets, trying not to feel too uncomfortable.

“Want to play, Doc?” Mack asked, holding up the controller. Fitz stared at it for a beat or two, and then Mack added in an amused sort of voice, “We don’t bite, you know.”

Hunter snorted a laugh and leaned to the side. He pulled a beer from a half-empty pack and handed it to Fitz. “You know who does, though?”

Fitz narrowed his eyes in confusion, even as Mack groaned. Fitz sat down on the arm of the couch, opened the bottle, and went back to trying to seem inconspicuous. 

“Ex, man. Do you not understand the concept of _ex_?” Mack reproached.

“No, I really think this time – ”

“Yeah, I’ve heard it before.” Mack glanced at Fitz with a grin. “The rest of us, meanwhile, are preparing for disaster.”

“No support. And after I was there for you about the quinoa.”

“Here, take a turn,” Mack changed the subject, handing Fitz the controller. 

“Oh, uh…I don’t really…” Fitz stared at it until Mack pointed at the different buttons and said what they did. Then the game was starting and Fitz was feeling very overwhelmed as he tried to keep up with the action.

“What about you?” Mack said, breaking Fitz’ concentration a bit. “Any ex horror stories?”

Before Fitz could answer – or rather, decline to answer, Trip popped his head through the door of the room.

“Have a good night, guys,” he called out before slipping out of the room again.

“Hey, wait a second,” Hunter yelled back, and Trip’s face reappeared. “Come in here and help me kick these guys’ arses.”

“No, thanks. I’ve got a much better offer,” Trip replied, waggling his eyebrows suggestively and leaving the room once more.

Fitz looked back at the game, pressed a few buttons, and actually killed a bad guy. It felt very satisfying. He could sense Mack’s eyes on him, which he tried to ignore.

“I wonder when he and Skye are going to make it official,” Mack observed, his tone almost too casual, and Fitz nearly dropped the controller. 

_Skye?_

“They’ve been dancing around it long enough,” Hunter agreed, and he too sounded like he was saying something between the lines. 

After a few moments of silence, Fitz slid off the arm of the couch to sit on the seat properly. And then, pretending to focus his entire concentration on the screen and trying to sound natural, he said, “I don’t have an _ex_ , but there was this girl. She doesn’t feel the same way as I do.”

Hunter choked on his beer, coughing with something that sounded a bit too much like laughter. “Her loss then, mate,” he finally managed to say. 

Fitz could tell Mack was staring at him again. He just kept playing.

**

This was stupid. This was so stupid. Stupidly _obvious_. And definitely not in keeping with his decision to not say anything about his feelings, because Simmons was brilliant and she’d know that this meant more than –

But…but she had worked so hard on it and it wasn’t fair to just let that go to waste. And he still thought it was a great design. And – and, if he was totally honest with himself, he couldn’t stop thinking about how Trip was apparently dating _Skye_ and maybe Simmons was actually just waiting for him to – 

Fitz shook his head. It was a good design. It deserved to be completed. That was all there was to it. He finished the modifications and set the prototype down next to her computer. And then he left the lab, grateful for Mack’s invitation to spend the day in the garage. As head of the tech division, he needed to become at least familiar with the planes and other vehicles. It had nothing to do with wanting to be far away when Simmons saw the gun.

**

Simmons walked into the lab, her tea in one hand and a report in the other. She glanced up a few moments later when she realized no one had greeted her. She had apparently become too used to early morning chats with Fitz before they set to work, and had completely forgotten that he had planned to be with Mack that day.

She wasn’t disappointed by that, really. It wasn’t like they needed to be attached at the hip or anything. 

She exhaled and looked away from his empty workspace to focus on her own. And that’s when she almost spilled her tea. Hands shaking, she put both her mug and the report down on the table and slowly reached out for the prototype. She turned it over, examining the changes from all angles.

“Morning, Simmons,” Skye called out as she walked into the lab, breaking Simmons out of her daze. “What’s that?” she added curiously.

Simmons shook her head. “It’s – it’s the night-night gun.”

“The what now?”

“The – the gun we were working on.” And then she laughed, almost involuntarily. She hugged the gun to her chest and blinked her eyes rapidly as she smiled at Skye. “I should be able to get the dose right now.”

Skye watched her for a few moments, her lips pressed together in a hard line but still turning up at the corners. “Most guys woo with a dozen roses.”

“This is so much better.” Simmons really did feel like she was swooning. And then a beat later, she shook her head quickly. She turned away from Skye and placed the gun back on the table. She tried to make her voice as firm as possible when she added, “And no one’s wooing anyone.”

“Uh-huh,” Skye responded.

**

“Oh God. Oh God. Oh God oh God oh _God_.”

“Fitz, please! Just do it.”

“I’m try – can you move just a bit? I can’t…”

“Like this?”

“Yes, perfect. Stay there. I’m almost – ”

“Wait, let me – ”

“This would be so much easier if – if I had another hand.”

“Stop joking and concentrate. I need you to…oh, there!”

“Yeah.”

“Right there.”

“Yes, yes.”

“Just a bit more.”

“Simmons, just – _Jesus_!”

Fitz whirled around and collapsed to the ground, leaning back against the wall of servers. Simmons crouched next to him, looking wildly around in an attempt to determine where the latest shot had come from. When no more danger appeared, she faced him again. 

“Did you finish?”

Fitz nodded, exhausted and a bit shaky. He ran his hands over his no-doubt very red face, feeling the sweat that had beaded on his forehead and along his temples.

“You know, at my last job, I got shot at a lot less,” he pointed out. “Like a statistically significant fewer number of times.”

“Hush.”

“Just saying. Can we please get out of here now?”

Simmons nodded. “I think so. Let’s go find the others.”

She half-stood from her crouch, peeking around the corner before leading Fitz to the door of the room.

“You were the one who wanted to go into the field,” Simmons reminded him, squatting down before slowly lifting up and sneaking a look out the window into the hall.

“Someday, Simmons. I said someday!”

“I guess today is someday,” she replied impishly. “Besides, you volunteered.”

“ _You_ volunteered! You said, and I quote, ‘oh Fitz! We could do that easily, couldn’t we?’ Easily. As if there’s anything easy about – ”

“Well, then why did you agree? No one forced you to.”

Fitz stared at Simmons for a beat, his mouth moving but no sound coming out. She turned to look at him then, the strangely vulnerable expression on her face contradicting the sleek, dangerous lines of her tactical wear. 

“I’d follow you anywhere,” he breathed out, not fully intentionally. 

He couldn’t seem to drop her gaze, and he began to feel more afraid than he had at any other time so far that day. She leaned a bit closer.

“Fitz, I – ”

And then the door opened. Simmons spun around. Whoever it was, it wasn’t one of their team, and Fitz watched as Simmons transformed before his eyes. Gone was the brilliant scientist and even the almost-timid woman who had just been in front of him. In her place was…was a superhero. She grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the gun and yanked the man forward, using the leverage to pull herself up and deliver a knee to his groin. She reached out with one hand, grabbed the edge of the open door, and slammed it into his head. As the door bounced back open, she tugged on the man’s arm again, rotating as she flipped him over her shoulder and stepping to the side as he crashed to the floor.

Without any delay, she reached out and grabbed Fitz by the hand, pulling him out of the room. Fitz stumbled a bit, but was soon running along behind her. They made it through two corridors and down a flight of stairs before they finally stopped. Fitz crashed against the wall, trying to catch his breath as he stared at Simmons in awe.

“What was that?”

Simmons exhaled a sharp, somewhat incredulous laugh and shook her head, even as she tried to control her own breathing. “Fitz, I _am_ a S.H.I.E.L.D.-certified field agent. I do have some moves.”

Fitz tried not to imagine what it would be like to have her show him some of those moves in a different setting under very different circumstances. He wanted to be pinned to the floor by her was basically what he was thinking. He licked his lips. 

“You’re bloody amazing is what you are.”

She blushed then, turning her head away and lifting a trembling hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.


	10. I’ve Been Spending the Last Eight Months (Thinking All Love Ever Does is Break and Burn and End)

A few days after Fitz’ first field mission, he was safely ensconced back in the base, but he wasn’t feeling completely settled. At the moment, he was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, watching Coulson enter a code into a keypad next to a nondescript door down an unused hallway. Then, Coulson opened the door and disappeared through it, the lock activating again as soon as the door closed. Fitz wouldn’t think anything of it, except Coulson went in there every couple days, more and more frequently as they realized the intel they gathered wasn’t panning out like they had hoped. And it was the only door that he’d ever seen with so much security. Not even Coulson’s office was that hard to get into.

And, OK, part of his curiosity just was his default state. He couldn’t stand not knowing things. 

But to be completely honest, the real reason he cared so much was because whenever Simmons walked past the hall, she glanced at the door, made an expression he couldn’t quite understand, and hurried on her way. 

“Hey, Doc,” Mack walked up next to him, interrupting Fitz’ thoughts. “How – ”

“What’s in there?” 

There was a noticeable pause. “Where?”

“That door there,” Fitz replied, registering Mack’s obvious evasiveness.

“Oh…some…an asset.”

“An asset. What does that mean?”

“Just…oh, hey, Bobbi. I need to talk to you.” Fitz didn’t even turn around as Mack walked away. His excuse was hardly convincing.

Fitz _hmm_ ed.

**

Really, he was doing them a favor. S.H.I.E.L.D. needed to know that it was incredibly easy to break through their security systems. Fitz glanced around as the decoder finished working out the sequence, and then he punched in the numbers. One more look around, and he opened the door, stepping through it quickly and pulling it closed behind him.

As he walked down the stairs, all he could see was a single chair placed in front of a force field. But on the chair was a tablet, which he grabbed. The commands were simple enough to figure out, and the force field dropped. 

Fitz took an immediate step back.

The man was more than familiar to him, and by his reaction, Fitz could tell he recognized him too. He stood up from the cot and walked slowly, rather menacingly, over to the barrier. Fitz tilted his head to the side, squinting in slight confusion and trying not to let on that his pulse had sped up. What was he even doing here?

“Ward, right?”

“Dr. Fitz.”

After a long moment, during which they simply stared at each other, Fitz finally asked, “Who _are_ you?”

He smiled, but it didn’t seem to reach his eyes, and Fitz felt like something was crawling up his back. “You haven’t heard about me?”

Fitz didn’t say anything, and Ward turned away from him. He walked back over to the cot and sat down. Finally, he looked up at Fitz again. “You should ask Jemma,” he said. “Although…you might not like what you hear.”

“Simmons?” Fitz’ voice wasn’t as steady as he would have preferred.

Ward’s smile grew even wider. “Last names still. I guess you weren’t really worth the effort after all.”

Fitz tilted his head again. He still felt confused, but even worse, he was pretty sure he was starting to figure some things out. And he definitely didn’t like it. Matters of the heart, Coulson had said.

He reached out for the tablet again, pressing the different buttons that would raise the barrier. 

“Tell Jemma to come see me soon,” Ward said, a small smirk on his face as he watched Fitz enter the commands. “It’s been too long since we – ”

The force field was in place, and Fitz never did hear the rest of Ward’s statement.

Thank God.

**

Fitz’ return to his room could perhaps more accurately be termed stomping than walking. He had spent the last ten minutes being yelled at by Coulson.

It turned out Coulson did not appreciate Fitz’ demonstration of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s security flaws. 

He had seen him on the video feed, apparently, and called him into his office as soon as Fitz was back upstairs. Then he proceeded to make it very clear that, as director, he would decide when Fitz needed to know things and when he didn’t. Fitz emphatically disagreed with that, but thought better than to say so out loud. Honestly, the man had tried to kill him; he deserved to know he was in the basement. Not to mention, he – he…

Fitz shook his head irritably.

“Fitz!”

He nearly tripped at the sound of Simmons’ voice. He hadn’t even realized he had just passed her bunk, and he definitely hadn’t heard the door open and close as she entered the hallway. He turned to face her, and judging by her response, the anger he felt was still evident on his face. 

“What happened?” she asked, concerned.

He shook his head, took a breath, but still couldn’t quite control his voice when he finally asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you…what?”

“That he – that _Ward_ , or whatever his name is, is here. In the basement.”

She stiffened. “Oh.”

“He’s dangerous,” Fitz struggled to explain his reaction. “He tried to kill me. And he – he seems to think – you – ”

“I know.”

Fitz blinked, unable to come up with a response to her straightforward, almost resigned acknowledgment. Simmons took a deep breath.

“Fitz, I owe you an explanation.”

He immediately turned away from her, lifting one hand to wave it dismissively. He had hoped she would say something for so long, but now he found he didn’t know if he could take it. If he could hear her say out loud that she had never really – 

“No, Simmons, I – you don’t have to explain.”

“I do, though,” she disputed. “I owe you an explanation and an apology.”

He faced her again, sighed, and nodded. He felt the anger seep out of him as he waited, replaced only by a tired ache but perhaps also just a glimmer of hope that this might – that they might finally resolve everything.

“Before Hydra revealed itself,” she began hesitantly, “I thought I had…I did. I _did_ have feelings for another member of our team. Um, Ward.” He nodded at the rather obvious confession, and she swallowed. “But he was a…bad guy. And he just, no matter what he told himself he felt for me or whether he thought he was justified in doing it, all he really wanted from me was – ” she broke off with a pained little sigh – “My biochemistry skills, I guess. There was this formula that…anyway.”

She looked up at him again, eyes swimming with tears, and she took a deep breath. Fitz waited, his whole body feeling on edge. 

“So…I know what it feels like to think – to think you’re on the same page as someone about, um, a relationship.” Fitz ducked his head, breaking eye contact as he swallowed. “And then,” Simmons continued, “for it all to fall apart.”

“I never thought – ” Simmons’ voice cracked, and Fitz looked up at her again. “I never thought that I was the type of person who could lie and hurt someone that badly.” She laughed humorlessly, and Fitz’ heart hurt at her clear sorrow. “Maybe he and I are more alike than I want to believe. Maybe…maybe that’s what drew him to me.”

Fitz took a reflexive step forward then, and Simmons backed away from him, hitting against the door to her bunk. 

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” she said quickly. “I could certainly never forgive him. But…I hope you can, maybe someday, at least understand – ”

“Simmons, I forgive you,” Fitz finally cut in.

She shook her head, and with each word of her next statement, her voice got increasingly faster and more breathless. “No, because you don’t realize that – I tried so hard to protect myself from getting hurt again that I ended up hurting _you_. Every day I had to force myself to think the worst of you, to believe that… But it’s so obvious how truly _good_ you are, and I can’t stand to think that I could’ve tarnished that somehow.”

“Simmons, _I forgive you_ ,” he repeated firmly. “Everything you did, you did for the right reasons. I can see that now, even if you can’t. And whatever happened in the past, you’re _nothing_ like him. You are a good person too, and I…”

She stared at him, eyes almost pleading, but he didn’t know if he was brave enough to say it. He tried to screw up his courage, tried to be the kind of man she deserved, one who could make declarations and confess feelings and sweep her off her feet. 

“You what?” she barely whispered.

“I love you, Simmons,” he said before he could reconsider it. And then he winced, dropping her gaze again. “I’m sorry. I’ve tried not to – ”

“You love me?” her voice was still soft, disbelieving and rather tearful.

He scoffed, staring at his feet as he shook his head. “I gave up a tenure-track faculty position at MIT so I could work with you, Simmons. And I know, I mean you _just_ said that we weren’t on the same page but I – _mmph_.”

Her lips were as soft and warm as he remembered them. Fitz raised his eyebrows in surprise, but he wasn’t about to pull away from her, even when she ended the kiss.

“No, Fitz,” she mumbled against his lips. “We are. Maybe not then, but definitely now.”

**

She was experiencing the most blissful sort of déjà vu as she pulled him closer until she was trapped between her door and the line of his body. But it was so much better than before, because there were no secrets, no lies. She kissed him as passionately as she could, trying to tell him everything she felt through the slide of her tongue and the press of her lips. And as much as she wanted to continue running her hands over the soft cotton of his shirt and the solid planes of his back, she also didn’t want to risk being interrupted by anyone.

She reached down behind her, groping around until she found the handle to her bunk door - the door which opened unexpectedly abruptly, just as he gripped her shoulders and pressed her back firmly while deepening the kiss. She found herself flailing, futilely grabbing at his arms as she toppled backwards.

She let out a rather loud _oof_ as she hit the floor. His own landing was equally clumsy, as he slid his arm around her back trying to catch her and only proceeded to jar his elbow on the floor instead. His other hand and knees slammed to the ground in a somewhat more successful attempt to prevent himself from crushing her. 

“Oh my God,” he exclaimed, even as he grimaced and shifted his weight. “Are you OK?”

But she was laughing too hard to answer, and soon he was laughing too. It was no worse a jolt than any of the ones she received when sparring with Trip or Bobbi, and she was far more interested in continuing their earlier activities than worrying about any possible injuries. She wasn’t feeling much pain anyway.

She kicked the door closed and wrapped her arms around his neck, and things stopped being funny pretty fast. 

“Ah, not to be presumptuous,” Fitz eventually murmured, in between planting soft kisses all over her face. She rolled her eyes fondly; his disclaimer was more than a little belied by where his hands happened to be caressing. “But there’s a bed right there.”

She shook her head and slid her hands down his chest. “Too far away.”

He gave her a little shrug in acknowledgment. “Good point,” he noted, his voice suddenly failing at the end right when her hands reached their destination and she gave him a little squeeze through his trousers.

He lowered himself towards her again, and she smiled in anticipation of the kiss. It never came though, as something caught his eye and he pulled away, his expression a mix of surprise and happiness.

“Simmons, is that the book – ?”

He never did finish the question, though. She had taken a tight grip on his tie and pulled him down into the kiss she craved. Several long moments passed, and several pieces of clothing were removed, before she finally answered him.

“Yes, it is,” she said. She rolled him over then, lifting herself up to her knees and reaching forward to pin his hands to the ground. She only briefly wondered at the delighted groan he made at the change in position, and then she was dragging her lower body against his and fighting a moan of her own. “And call me Jemma,” she requested before kissing him again.


	11. Epilogue: It’s a Love Story (Baby, Just Say Yes)

Two cups of tea sat forgotten on the table in the break room, and Jemma herself sat sideways on Fitz’ lap, twisting to wrap her arms around him fully. One of his hands was hopelessly tangled in her hair as he pulled her down for yet another kiss. And the other hand, which had been squeezing her thigh rhythmically up until only moments ago, was skating up, sneaking under the hem of her shirt until he could move his thumb in broad, soft swipes against the skin just along the waistband of her trousers.

Jemma sighed, breaking the kiss and resting her forehead against his. Her eyes were closed but she could sense the smile stretching across his face.

“I wonder,” he practically growled, “if we could sneak back into the old lab one night.”

She furrowed her brow, and leaned back to look at him in confusion. He gave her a cheeky grin and clarified, “I have a lot of fantasies that I’d like to revisit. We have some lost time to make up for.”

She shook her head, biting her lip to control her grin. “Tell me about it. And it’s worse than you realize. Did you know we would have started at the Academy the same year?”

It was his turn to be confused, and she smiled. “I got my Ph.D. at 17 too,” she explained. “Both of them.”

He stared at her for a beat or two. “I have never found you more attractive,” he breathed out, and she tilted her head back in laughter. 

“Just think,” she said, her voice turning a little shaky as he tugged her back down and began to suck little love bites into her neck. “We might have been friends. Or more than that.”

“I doubt it,” he murmured, shaking his head. “I would have found you so intimidating. Probably would’ve taken me months to think of something to say.”

“I guess we’ll never know,” Jemma teased. 

But she dropped the subject then, content instead to keep kissing him. She was beginning to consider moving around on his lap until she straddled him, public spaces be damned, or maybe just drag him back to her room and forget about work for the day, just go back to holding each other and talking, _among other things_ , like they had done the whole night before. But before she could seriously act on either of those impulses, an unexpected voice interrupted them.

“About damn time.”

Jemma jumped away from Fitz and looked to the door. She wasn’t sure how it was possible, but she felt even happier in that moment than she already had.

“Donnie!”

But Fitz, who was trying to pull her close again, just grumbled at the intrusion. “About damn time _you_ showed up for work.”

Donnie grinned and leaned against the doorframe. “You signed off on my dissertation,” he reminded Fitz. “You can’t boss me around anymore.”

“Ah,” Fitz gestured broadly. “I’m the head of the tech division here. By definition, I am your boss.”

“Whatever. I’m just glad I decided to visit my family long enough to avoid the awkward reunion. To be fair, I planned it that way, but I still expected to have some work cut out for me when I got here.”

Fitz said something in reply, but Jemma didn’t quite hear it since she had tucked her face against the side of Fitz’ neck to muffle her laughter. His hand slid up her back, coming to a rest just below her shoulder, and she could feel the rumble of his own restrained amusement as he and Donnie exchanged gibes.

The End


End file.
